The Sexually Suggestive Cupboard
by Hysteria and Chaos
Summary: Harry was forced to resign himself to the fact that he had just been outsmarted by a cupboard. The thought was not at all pleasant, and Harry was very glad no one else was around to witness what he was about to do. 'Oh wonderful cupboard,' he began, feel
1. Chapter 1

The cupboard-under-the-stairs had started to make very suggestive remarks to its sole occupant, one Harry James Potter

**Disclaimer:** It's not mine.

**A/N:** This is an incredibly stupid plot which struck me over the head the other day. It's very pointless and no doubt incredibly NOT funny. Please, feel free to ridicule me as much as you would like. I plan to include some Romance later on, with a very mental Harry.

The cupboard-under-the-stairs had started to make very suggestive remarks to its sole occupant, one Harry James Potter. And it was disturbing, very disturbing, especially when you were ten years old, and hated by your aunt, uncle and cousin.

'I love it when you're inside me,' came the by now familiar, somewhat sleazy voice Harry had come to associate with the cupboard-under-the-stairs. He shuddered at the crass insinuation, but said nothing. Perhaps if he didn't, the cupboard would get bored.

'I'm hard as wood… for you Harry… all for you.' Obviously the cupboard had not yet cottoned onto the 'I'm-not-talking-because-I-want-you-to-shut-up' strategy. Harry wished it would. It was almost midnight, and he was about to turn eleven. He didn't want to celebrate another year of successfully avoiding being murdered by Dudley by being sexually harassed by a hollow wooden structure.

'Oh boy, if you took your hammer to me… now that would be one good time.' Harry sighed, it was still going. Outside, the grandfather clock in the hallway began to chime.

'Happy Birthday Harry,' he muttered to himself, conveniently forgetting his mute stance. This turned out to be a big mistake, as the cupboard took this as the affirmative to continue with its terrible pick-up lines.

'That's right sugar,' the cupboard cooed, its seemingly masculine voice taking on a distinct feminine edge. Harry shuddered, as the cupboard continued speaking, seemingly unaware of Harry's repulsion, 'with me, everyday will seem like your birthday!' The cupboard subsided into loud, high-pitched giggles, and Harry had finally had enough.

'SHUT UP! I DON'T WANT TO HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU!' Harry cried loudly, forgetting in his frustration exactly what he was dealing with, 'YOU MAKE ME SICK! TAKE YOUR DISGUSTING PICKUP LINES AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR--'

Harry's tirade stopped abruptly (convenient, as he was as of yet unsure how he would have finished that particular insult, did cupboards have backsides?), as the sound of noisy wailing filled the air. Taking a moment to ponder this abrupt change in events, Harry was forced to conclude that it was the cupboard which was emitting the loud, childish cries. Against his better wishes, Harry was assaulted with a sickening wave of guilt, not unlike what he'd felt the day he'd accidently dropped Dudley's pet hamster in the blender. He'd only been trying to make a point! It was the stupid Hamster's fault for biting his finger! Jolted back to reality by the same insistent weeping, Harry decided to make things right.

'Er, sorry…' Harry mumbled inaudibly. Or so he thought. Abruptly, the wailing stopped, and the cupboard spoke,

'So you should be!' Came the indignant reply, and Harry almost thought it sounded self-righteous. What right did a cupboard have to sound self-righteous anyway?

'I don't think that apology is good enough, you'll have to grovel some more,' came the smarmy voice of the cupboard, and Harry's guilt was replaced with anger. No way was he spending his birthday apologising to a cupboard, which by rights, shouldn't even be able to talk! As if sensing his displeasure, the cupboard spoke again, 'bare in mind, that should you leave my feelings hurt, I'll raise such a racket that your Aunt and Uncle will most certainly be woken.'

There it was, the clincher. Harry was forced to resign himself to the fact that he had just been outsmarted by a cupboard. The thought was not at all pleasant, and Harry was very glad no one else was around to witness what he was about to do.

'Oh wonderful cupboard,' he began, feeling slightly squeamish as he did so, 'I am dreadfully apologetic for the terrible wrong-doings I have caused you. Can you ever forgive me?' Harry was glad it was dark, there was no way the cupboard would be able to see the face he was pulling. Pausing for a second, Harry considered the stupidity of his words, cupboards didn't have eyes. _They don't have a mouth either, _said a treacherous voice in his head. Harry hated that voice, it always turned up at the most inconvenient times.

'Apology accepted,' said the cupboard, Harry fancied it sounded quite smug now, 'go to sleep, I'll wake you up in the morning – oh, happy birthday sugarlips!' Barely containing the moan that threatened to escape his lips, Harry settled down on the thin mattress his Aunt Petunia had thoughtfully provided for him to sleep on. Pulling his ragged, moth-eaten blankets closer around his body, Harry tried to block out the strange events which had just occurred. Hopefully he'd wake up in the morning and it would all have just been a dream. As his eyes fluttered closed, Harry could have sworn he heard a soft tenor voice singing _Rock-a-by Baby_, but then his eyes closed fully, and sleep took him.

'Oh sugarlips, wake up.' Harry moaned fitfully as he tossed and turned. He was having a nightmare, Dudley was chasing him down Privet Drive except his head was a giant marshmallow. Under normal circumstances Harry would have found this ironically amusing, but this marshmallow-headed Dudley could also breath fire, an interesting development which had caused dream-Harry to sprint away as fast as his match-stick legs would carry him. Which was another interesting twist to his dream, Harry was completely made out of matchsticks, adding to his fear of fire, for if Dudley caught him he would almost certainly be--

'WAKE UP!' Harry's head shot up in alarm, and whacked into the beam above his head. Groaning in pain, Harry cast about him for the source of the yeller. Closer inspection revealed no Aunt Petunia outside his cupboard, and no Dudley on the stairs above him.

'Who woke me up then,' Harry muttered out loud, scratching his head in a crude imitation of a gorilla.

'It was I!' came the cheerful voice of his cupboard, and Harry almost shrieked out loud as memories of the previous evening came hurtling back towards him, with all the grace and finesse of an out-of-control train.

'You!' he cried accusingly, wanting to point his finger for added effect, but not quite sure which part of the cupboard to point it at.

'Me!' the cupboard agreed cheerfully, and Harry was sure that if it had had a face, it would have poked out its tongue playfully. Thankfully, it didn't Harry didn't think he could handle the idea of a cupboard with a face. It was just too… bizarre. He was sure this was going to haunt him for years, he'd be mentally scarred, forever afraid to walk into a cupboard, lest it should sexually harass him.

'You should be thanking me,' the cupboard continued, in the same smug tone, 'your Aunt is just about to wake you. I totally helped you out here.' Harry did not reply, his mind too caught up on the idea that the cupboard had just employed the use of American slang. They were in Surry for crying out loud!

'You just used American slang!' Harry said in surprise, and the cupboard laughed.

'Of course I did, haven't you noticed my accent, it's North Virginian.' Harry had not noticed this, but he didn't want to appear ignorant and/or stupid, so he pretended he had.

'I did, but I thought you just had a bad head cold,' he said quickly, trying to cover up his momentary lack of worldly knowledge. The cupboard seemed not to notice, and if it did, it very tactfully didn't say anything.

Further conversation was impeded by a loud knocking, and the sound of a bolt being slid across.

'Boy!' came Aunt Petunia's high pitched, nasal voice, 'get out of there and make breakfast.' Harry hurried to obey, eager to get away from the cupboard.

'Get the mail!' Came his Uncle's loud bellow, from this Harry surmised his Aunt, Uncle and cousin must be in the kitchen, by far their favourite room in the house. Walking to the front door, Harry picked up the mail and sifted through it, tossing some important looking bills into a pot plant in the hallway.

Halfway through his relatively short walk (when compared to your average hallways, this one was relatively short) and glanced down at a thick envelope in his hand with a mixture of surprise and apprehension. This really was turning out to be a very strange birthday, first his cupboard strikes up a conversation with him, and now he was receiving mail. Who could it be from? Harry had never had any friends, Dudley's bullying tendencies, coupled with the fact that Harry was rarely allowed to wash had ensured that, yet here he was receiving mail.

Accompanying the mail into the kitchen, Harry deposited everything but his letter in front of Uncle Vernon, before turning away to open his own letter,

_Harry Potter,_

_The Cupboard Under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive, Surrey._

Harry found it decisively odd that whoever was sending the letter knew of these particular sleeping arrangements and for a wild second he thought they might be in league with the cupboard. Quickly dismissing the absurd thought, Harry began to open the letter.

But was stopped. By Dudley.

'Bollocks,' he said loudly, as Dudley quickly took control of the letter, hoping around like the three little pigs after the wolf failed to blow down the brick house. Though Dudley's hopping had the unwanted side effect of making his massive love handles jiggle unpleasantly, until Harry began to feel slightly sea-sick.

'HARRY'S GOT A LETTER!' Dudley exclaimed non-to-brightly, his piggy eyes fixated on the parchment in front of him, gelatos fat still jiggling unpleasantly, Harry couldn't help it, he gagged and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, his beloved letter had made its way into his Aunt Petunia's hands, and she was eyeing it with distaste.

'Who would write to you?' Vernon asked scornfully, but Petunia's eyes had fallen upon the address and she gave a frightened squawk, before rounding on Harry.

'You- Dudley's spare room- now,' she managed to get out, before collapsing back into her chair, face red.

'You heard her, GO!' Uncle Vernon snarled, and Harry found himself roughly thrown out, Dudley not far behind.

'Bollocks,' Harry muttered angrily as he trudged upstairs to what would no doubt be a very boring couple of hours. He wouldn't even have the terrible pickup lines of his cupboard for company.


	2. Chapter 2

'Boy,' Uncle Vernon's voice thundered down the stairs, awakening Harry from his dream

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**A/N:** Another chapter so soon! Bahaha, I must like this story. I realise Harry may seem a little out of character, but I think we've all established by now that this is not your average Harry Potter fanfic. And also, do not worry, the cupboard will be returning in scenes to come. Ahah! Enjoy!

'Boy,' Uncle Vernon's voice thundered down the stairs, awakening Harry from his dream. This one was quite a pleasant dream, it involved Dudley and Vernon both stuck in giant ant nests, while Harry lazily drizzled honey over their fat, heaving bodies. Petunia hung from a tree, shrieking occasionally as manic, elaborately painted five year olds batted her like a piñata. Harry was just getting to the bit where Petunia exploded in a rainbow shower of candy and good times, when a loud voice rang through his mind.

Harry frowned as he started to awaken, the dream drifting away until it was nothing more then a pleasant memory Harry would call upon in times of sadness. Having lived in Dudley's spare room for the last week and a half now, Harry was almost starting to miss the sexual advances of his cupboard…almost; Harry doubted he would ever be able to fully miss that cupboard, it just made him so damn uncomfortable… with that sleazy man-voice. Harry was definitely NOT gay, a one time win, in the form of Vernon's playboy magazine had assured that, even if an eight year old Harry hadn't really understood what was going on at the time.

'BOY!' Vernon's voice sounded closer this time, and Harry decided it was probably time to get out of bed

'Yes Uncle,' he sang as his bedroom door crashed open and Vernon stormed in.

'Pack your stuff,' he said loudly, spit flying everywhere, as it tended to do whenever the beefy man got worked up about something. Harry smiled in remembrance of a particularly special occasion when one of Vernon's fillings had flown out and hit the mayor's wife in the forehead. Needless to say, they'd never socialised in those circles again and as a matter of fact, Harry wasn't even sure that had really happened. As if his Aunt and Uncle would ever have taken him to meet the mayor. Frowning, Harry tried to discern where that particular memory had come from.

Misinterpreting Harry's puzzled frown for disrespect, (for the most part he was correct, though the scenario itself was slightly different) Vernon ambled into the room.

'Pack. Your. Stuff.' He said again, face purpling rapidly, the air around him seeming to darken. Harry hastened to obey, not at all surprised by the course of action. It seemed letters to him had been popping up all over the place hundreds and hundreds of them appearing when they least expected it, including a particularly amusing occasion involving sixty-six letters, and Aunt Petunia's new lingerie.

Harry himself had finally managed to snag one as he stared out his window late the other night. He hadn't yet had a chance to read it though, and it was concealed under his pillow. As soon as Vernon left the room though… he was going to blow this joint. (Figuratively speaking, not literally of course, Harry didn't think anyone would take kindly to him exploding his Uncle and Aunts house… though it would put an end to the situation with the cupboard…) Harry left the thought unfinished as he pretended to pack, thoughts of the letter dancing tantalisingly before him, just like the chicken pieces from that ad on TV last night, the memory of which made Harry smile, boy did he love chicken pieces.

Vernon finally left the room, muttering something about Dudley and a leg of ham which Harry wasn't keen to investigate, he had much more pressing matters to attend to. Sticking his hands under his pillow, he pushed aside left over bits of last nights dinner (chicken pieces no less – he never could resist them), and found the now familiar piece of parchment. Ripping into it, Harry stared in surprise at the writing that met his astonished eyes. Magic was real? He was a wizard? Suddenly a lot of things made sense, the talking cupboard being top at the list of activities which now had an explanation.

As he was pondering this new and life-altering revelation, one which involved no grey school uniform and the potential of regular bathing, Harry noticed a second piece of parchment, tucked in behind the first. Pulling out the slightly crumpled parchment, Harry opened it to reveal a hastily scrawled message in smudged black ink. He needed to squint a bit to read it, but eventually Harry managed to puzzle out the message.

_Harry-_

_Was meant to come get you bout a week ago… but somethin came up, I'm in Romania at the moment and I don't know when I'll get back. Professor Dumbledore sent me to get you, but I can't. I'll be back around the 30th, so do you reckon in the meantime you can get yourself to Diagon Alley, it's in London, directions are on the back of this letter. Show this at Gringotts and they'll give you your key. Oh also – pretend that you're not who you are. Yer, that should do it. Oh, and your parent's didn't die in a car crash…_

_Hagrid _

The note ended rather abruptly, as if whoever had written it had decided they'd provided Harry with enough cryptic information. Harry did not agree. Whoever wrote the note, despite having a name as unfortunate as Hagrid (it put Harry in mind of a large hairy mole), had just made it into his bad book. Pulling a thin black book out of his pocket, Harry opened it to an half full page before pulling out a pencil and neatly writing, under a large paragraph detailing the cleaning habits of Mrs Figg and all 27 of her cats, _Hagrid, stupid, uninformative, bad speller._ Pleased with what he had written, Harry smirked, shutting the black book with as loud a bang as the thin, paper backed tome could muster, before turning back to the problem at hand.

How was he to get to London? There was no question about the letter's legitimacy, clearly someone who had managed to magic twelve letters inside a dozen eggs without so much as a crack, was worthy of being believed, and Harry would take any opportunity to get away from whatever trip Uncle Vernon was planning on taking them on, which, if it was anything like the last one would no doubt involve copious amounts of treacle syrup, and at least four of Aunt Marge's boar hounds.

Violently shaking his head, to rid himself of the incredibly disturbing image of Ripper advancing upon him, sensually licking treacle syrup from his pointy teeth, Harry realised he was going to do something he had only heard about on TV. He was going to have to catch public transport. Packing all his worldly possessions (a pair of Dudley's old slacks and an old toothbrush he found under his bed), Harry wandered down stairs and into the kitchen, where he sneakily helped himself to the spare change in the jar on top of the fridge labelled rat poison, the one thing Aunt Petunia had been sure Dudley would never try and eat. Harry himself begged to differ, on no less then seven separate occasions he had managed to feed Dudley rat poison, and had rather enjoyed having the house to himself while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had rushed Dudley to the ER.

Smiling nostalgically at the rat poison tin, Harry waved goodbye to the stove (his one true friend, he thought ruefully) and attempted to walk out the front door. His passage was stopped, unfortunately, by the familiar mountainous figure Harry had long since come to associate with his Uncle Vernon.

'Where do you think you're going?' the man in question growled, face pinkening dramatically.

'Hogwarts,' Harry said conversationally, enjoying the way Vernon's face changed rapidly from Pink to off-white.

'Wh-what did you just say?' his Uncle hissed, turning to face Harry, who had slowly began to edge towards the door. The act of turning partially freed Vernon's lumpy frame from the doorway and Harry, seizing his chance, lunged, managing to slide headfirst down the stairs and into Aunt Petunia's – Petunias.

The irony was not lost on Harry who unfortunately had no time to appreciate his Aunt's now squashed prize winning flowers. Vernon was advancing down the stairs with the force of a bowling ball, or a ball of snow down a hill – with rapidly mounting momentum. Seeing his chance to employ one of his lesser known, though still incredibly important talents, Harry jumped up and ran for it, reaching the front gate in less time then it took Vernon to reach the bottom of the steps.

'COME BACK HERE BOY!' came his Uncle's voice, thundering after him as Harry took off down the street, all thoughts of the cupboard-under-the-stairs far from his mind. He was getting away, life was good.

'Now, which bus will take me to London?' he wondered out loud, his Uncle's loud bellows still echoing down the street like an injured bull. Or perhaps just an angry one.

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Several hours, and some harassed looking bus drivers later, Harry was standing outside a nondescript looking pub that Hagrid had assured him was 'The Leaky Cauldron', also known as the gateway to Diagon Alley. Giving the black scrawl a withering glare (which surprisingly, failed to effect the otherwise inanimate parchment, Harry entered the pub.

Inside was dark and dingy, and strangely seedy. Harry wondered if this was a strange joke. Perhaps 'Hagrid' (Harry was starting to wonder if that was his real name – _who_ in their right mind would name their child _Hagrid_?) had set this up, as an elaborate ruse to take Harry for his own? Harry was so busy pondering the potentially scary scenario, that he had failed to notice that the whole pub (not that there had been that many people in their to start with) had gone quiet.

A hunched looing barman wearing an eye patch shuffled up to him, staring intently into his forehead, _Hagrid?_ Harry wondered briefly, the man's mouth dropped and he half-whispered,

'Merlin's beard, it's Harry Potter.' The strained silence reached breaking point, and Harry, unaware of what was going on, said the first thing that came to his head,

'Hagrid?' this seemed to jolt the man out of whatever stunned reverie he had been existing in, and he held up his hands to stop the people who had been about to surge forwards, apparently sensing Harry's confusion.

'No, I'm not Hagrid Harry, I'm Tom the Barman. Hagrid's not expected in here until tomorrow.' Harry was still puzzled.

'How did you know who I was then? Did Hagrid tell you to look out for me?' This seemed the most likely explanation for things, though Harry suspected he was among 'magic' now, and so it seemed likely that nothing was going to be logical from here on out.

'Goodness no son, everyone knows who you are. You're famous; imagine that, defeating you-know-who, the darkest wizard to ever exist.'

Harry was stunned into silence, he knew for a fact he had done nothing of the sort. Or had he? Perhaps in an alternate dimension; Harry had a strange image of himself in a suit of armour and bearing a lance trouncing an evil wizard who sat astride an angry looking dragon.

'I think you have me confused with someone else,' he whispered, before collapsing on the ground in a dead faint.

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When Harry awoke, he was lying on a bed. The bed was infinitely more comfortable then Dudley's spare bed had been, largely owing to the fact that Dudley had never jumped on and broken all the springs in this bed. Harry blinked a few times, before reaching around for his glasses, which had been thoughtfully placed on the table next to his bed and sitting up.

From Harry's excellent eye for woodwork, Harry deduced he was still in the Leaky Cauldron. This was confirmed when the door opened, and Tom the barman wandered in bearing a tray loaded with food. Harry nearly cried with happiness when he spied what was most definitely a plate of chicken pieces nestled in a corner of the tray.

'Ah good, you're awake,' Tom commented pleasantly, handing Harry the tray, 'I've spoken with Professor Dumbledore, and he was very surprised to see you here Harry,' here Tom paused to chuckle. 'I told him you seemed quite overwhelmed, and he asked if you could stay here for the evening until he could send someone to get you in the morning. There's a cloak for you in the cupboard, and I'll be in with your dinner later.'

This said, Tom turned and closed the door, leaving Harry alone to his thoughts. Still pondering the strange turn of events where he found himself in a world where everyone knew everything about him, yet he knew nothing, Harry decided to go and check out this cloak. He'd seen Tom wearing a cloak, and it looked cool, no doubt much nicer then Dudley's old stuff.

Walking into the cupboard, which in case you were wondering, was a lot roomier then the cupboard-under-the-stairs, Harry spied the cloak hanging at the back. He was just about to grab it when it happened,

'Well well sexy legs, long time no speak.' Harry let out a squeak of surprise, dropping the cloak on the floor. He bent over to pick it up, when it spoke again, 'Ah that derriere is looking fit as always my hunky spunk.' There was no doubt about it. the cupboard was back.

**A/N:** Yay! The cupboard is back! Thanks to Jargon and Bunny of Despair for their reviews. I very much appreciated them. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And do let me know if it was any good, feedback is always appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry stayed in the cupboard for longer then he would have liked

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**A/N:** Woohoo! Another chapter, dude, I'm on fire tonight; figuratively speaking, not literally. I have never, in the history of my meagre existence, updated a fic this often! Yay me! Special thanks to White Water, Jargon and Trancos for their lovely reviews. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Harry stayed in the cupboard for much longer then he would have liked (as long as it took for him to pick himself up and sprint back to his room). After about ten seconds, he was safely back in the room, panting for breath and wondering how on earth the cupboard had moved from Privet Drive to this… place (Harry still wasn't quite sure where he was.) Glancing around at the deceptively ordinary room, Harry noticed a mirror hanging on the wall.

Now Harry James Potter was no fool. He had read _Alice's Adventures through the Looking Glass_, and was immediately suspicious of the mirror, hanging innocently on his wall. Who knows what it might do; pull him into an alternate dimension, where he would be forced to play his way across a giant chess board; reflect back his worst fear; or still yet (and Harry shuddered as another possibility arose in his mind), it might reflect back – Dudley. Harry could think of nothing worse then looking like Dudley, and it was with this thought in mind that he decided it was time for some more decisive action.

Picking up a candlestick, which had been sitting on his bedside table next to what looked like a lead pipe and a revolver, Harry edged towards the mirror, body tense and ready for anything. He heard what sounded like a giggle from the direction of the cupboard, but Harry continued on, valiantly trying to remove thoughts of that meddlesome clothes storage unit out of his head. By this stage, Harry had reached the mirror and stood in front of it, candlestick raised comically above his head. Harry thought he looked dangerous and imposing, in reality he looked like a confused baton-twirler.

'Alright Looking-Glass,' Harry wheezed, doing a terrible impersonation of Clint Eastwood, 'time to meet your maker…' Harry seemed not to notice his sudden shift in genres, as he stood poised over the mirror, looking for all intents and purposes, quite mad. While staunchly claiming later on that he was prepared for all eventualities, it was quite obvious to anyone present (the cupboard and the mirror), that Harry was not at all prepared for the events that followed.

'Aha! I've got it. It was Potter, in the bedroom, with the candlestick!' Harry gave a loud squeak, before dropping the candle stick with a loud thud. It hit the ground and snapped neatly in two, the action causing the mirror (for that had been the source of the mystery voice) to scream very loudly,

'IT'S JOSHUA- HE-HE'S KILLED HIM!' the mirror then dissolved into noisy sobs, and Harry was faced with the grim realisation that he had just caused another inanimate object to burst into tears.

'Er- please stop crying,' Harry said awkwardly, obviously having learnt nothing from the situation with cupboard. The outcome of his attempted comforting was that the mirror, if possible, wept even harder and the bottom of the candlestick gave a pathetic jump, as if trying to rejoin its upper half. Harry jumped backwards, startled, and the mirror's noisy sobs stopped abruptly.

'Oh Goody, it's not Joshua,' the mirror surmised happily.

'Er, what?' Harry was clearly very confused, an emotion which was occurring more and more frequently.

'It's not Joshua, I think that was Manfred, he's often separating himself. Should be alright in about an hour or so.' Even as the mirror spoke, Harry watched in morbid fascination as the candlestick gave another jumping wiggle and edged closer to its other half. Deciding the situation to far gone for even his brain to handle, Harry turned his attention back to the mirror.

'Why can you talk?' Harry asked, with all the subtly of Dudley when he was hungry.

'I'll beg your pardon!' the mirror replied haughtily, obviously offended.

'I mean er, I've never met a talking mirror,' Harry said hurriedly, in an attempt to diffuse what was quickly becoming an explosive situation, 'normally it's just me and the cupboard.' At the mention of the cupboard, Harry suddenly remembered that the super-cool cloak was still stuck in his.

'Shit,' he said loudly, effectively stopping the mirror mid-rant about the commonality of talking mirrors.

'Goodness me young man, why such vulgar language?' The mirror put Harry in mind of a stiff old lady, that was until it started singing _Sex on The Beach_, in a rather wheezy, off tune voice.

'I have to go back into the cupboard,' Harry offered by way of explanation, leaving the mirror to sing to itself as he approached the cupboard.

Once inside, Harry waited for the imminent pickup line. He was not disappointed.

'And he's back inside me again, whoever said that cupboards couldn't fit everything in obviously never met this dashing specimen.' Harry cringed, he was sure if it was able, the cupboard would be leering at him.

'Don't mind me, I'm just here to get something…' Harry offered passively.

'Sure you're not here to get some?' The cupboard was incorrigible. Harry shuddered, grabbing the cloak off its hanger and dashing back outside, 'I'll be seeing you again!' the cupboard called after him, what it no doubt hoped was a seductive voice. Harry felt slightly ill.

Back outside, Harry noticed the mirror was still singing. Shaking his head, Harry glanced up at the clock on the wall and found that a lot of time had passed at it was nearly 10pm. He'd spent way to much time with talking…things. Eyes straying to the comfortable looking double bed he'd woken up on, Harry decided that it was time to call it a night. Studiously ignoring the mirror, Harry slipped off his shoes and climbed into bed, once again pausing to enjoy the broken spring free environment. Removing his glasses, Harry smiled benignly as sleep claimed him.

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Harry awoke to the sound of Manfred finally reassembling himself. The Mirror's cries of happiness also contributed significantly to his state of awakening. He was prevented from going back to sleep by the entrance of Tom bearing breakfast. Upon seeing him, Harry remembered that the man had not brought him dinner. Glancing at the tough-looking barman, Harry decided he'd let the matter slip… for now. Handing him the tray, Tom offered the boy a lopsided smile,

'How was your sleep? Sorry about the lack of dinner, pub was awfully full last night,' Tom smiled crookedly again, before shrugging in an offbeat manner. It annoyed Harry as it reminded him of try hard street lads. Before he could comment on this however, Tom spoke again, 'how'd you like the room?' Ah, finally a question Harry could answer.

'Great bed, but I hope you realise that mirror is mental!' Harry strategically left out the part about the cupboard, figuring that it was his own issue.

'Ah yes, good old Betty, she's been around the block alright.' Tom smiled fondly and left the room, leaving Harry to wonder just what he'd meant by 'around the block'. Was there such a thing as a promiscuous mirror? Harry didn't think so… it just didn't seem, possible. How would they…

Harry was saved from pursuing this dangerously disturbing thought by another knock on the door. Feeling rather Lordly, Harry buttered a scone, before imperiously announcing,

'Enter.' The door opened, and the oldest, most batty looking man Harry had ever seen entered the room, white beard so long it was tucked into the rope which held his robes shut. The rope in question was more then slightly frayed and worn, and Harry found himself offering a silent prayer that it wouldn't choose today to snap. Forcing himself back to the present, Harry found that that man was speaking to him, in a wise kind sort of voice that immediately made Harry feel bad for his earlier thoughts.

'Ah Harry, it's wonderful to see you again m'boy.' The old man smiled, revealing he still had all his teeth. This surprised Harry somewhat, he was yet to meet an old man who still had all his teeth, and this one looked quite old.

Misinterpreting Harry's puzzled expression for confusion, the man spoke again,

'But how silly of me not to introduce myself to you Harry. I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' Suddenly a lot of things made sense to Harry this was the guy who wrote in the green ink.

'It's nice to meet you sir,' Harry said respectfully, still unsure of what to make of Dumbledore. His first impression of the man had been that he was more then slightly insane, though if he was headmaster of a school – he must be pretty important.

'I'm here to check up on you Harry, and to fill you in on some vital facts about the wizarding world, some which, I believe, will be imperative to your survival.' Harry immediately warmed to Dumbledore, finally someone who could give him answers! Harry also noted happily that Dumbledore was yet to use a seedy pickup line on him, making him infinitely better to talk to then that stupid cupboard.

'So Harry, do you have any questions for me?' Dumbledore inquired, eyes twinkling behind their half-moon spectacles.

'Er- yeah, why did half the bar try and mob me?' Harry said quickly, asking the question foremost on his mind.

'Ah yes, straight into it I see. I'm afraid Harry, that this answer is going to require quite a bit of back-story.' Conjuring an arm chair with a flick of a long stick produced from up the man's long, bell-shaped sleave, Dumbledore sat, leaving Harry to gape like a fish at his first display of real magic.

'The story starts on the 31st of October, 1981. You were barely a year old Harry, and wanted by the most evil wizard of all time. You, along with your parents had gone into hiding, under the most powerful charms I could think of. And let me assure you, that when the situation arises, I normally can think of quite a lot. Alas, something went wrong, and Voldemort, for that is the wizard's name, discovered your parents hide-out. He murdered your father, and mother, and then turned his wand upon you. Strangely enough however, when he tried to cast the spell on you, it backfired, and Voldemort, without a body, fled. You were celebrated Harry, the one-year-old, who vanquished the most evil wizard in history, and survived the only curse with a 100 kill rate. That, is why you're famous.'

Silence followed Dumbledore's tale. Broken only by the out of tune voice of the mirror, as it started singing All I Want for Christmas is You. Harry's mind was like a blender, and Dumbledore had just chucked way to much fruit into it. He was famous. His parents were murdered by some evil Voldey-guy. He'd been hit on by a cupboard. Life was weird, very weird. Finally, Harry gained control of himself, and glanced up and Dumbledore.

'This evil guy, is he still alive?' Dumbledore regarded Harry for a moment, hands steepled in front of him, eyes still twinkling inanely.

'Yes,' he finally responded, after what seemed like an age. Harry had been incredibly close to jumping up and shaking the man. Upon hearing his response, however, Harry decided it was best to remain still. It was all a bit too much to take, and clearly this Voldemort fellow was more powerful then it first appeared.

'I see,' Harry retorted, his own response taking at least as long as Dumbledore's.

The two sat in pensive silence for sometime, before Dumbledore jumped up, face lightening up almost comically.

'Enough of that Harry, we've some shopping to do! The magical world awaits!' Bounding upwards, like a hyperactive child on a sugar high, Harry could only stare in surprise, as Dumbledore practically skipped to the door.

'Come on then!' he said loudly, door flapping in his excitement, 'grab your cloak, and let's go!' Harry hastened to obey, eager to wear the cloak. Wondering if it would swish, Harry experimentally tried a Dracula-style twirl, almost collapsing in giddy delight when the cloak fanned out beautifully behind him.

He would most probably have continued to do this all day had he not tripped on the edge of the cloak and crashed headfirst into the newly back-together Manfred, who promptly split in half again. The mirror laughed loudly, as the candle began its pathetic jump-hops, and Dumbledore called from the hallway that the last one to Gringotts was a rotten egg. Not at all sure where or what Gringotts was, and not keen to get lost, Harry raced out of the room after Dumbledore, cloak flying out behind him like a black cloud.


	4. Chapter 4

After an impressive hole creating episode, which put Harry in mind of that time on Back to the future when…anyway, back to the point, they walked through a hole in a brick wall and appeared in a street Harry was sure it was physically impossible to fit i

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**A/N:** Another chapter! How lovely. Harry's experiencing the Wizarding world for the first time! To the delightful reviewer, who so charmingly asked me when Hermione was going to enter the story, I can only assume they have read the original HP books, and should therefore already know when Hermione will enter. This said, perhaps you should take interest in other characters besides Hermione. I had no idea she had such a cult following! I'm more a fan of Blaise Zabini – I'm too scared to write one about him though, in case I wreck him for myself! Oh and ps. This chapter was a little boring to write, I want him to hurry up and get to Hogwarts! Should be on the train next chapter though. _  
White Water_- I shall try and fulfil your request in the future!

Thankyou to _Jargon_ and _Loatroll_ as well for their reviews! Made me smile!

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After an impressive hole creating episode, which put Harry in mind of that time on Back to the future when…anyway, back to the point, they walked through a hole in a brick wall and appeared in a street Harry was sure it was physically impossible to fit in the backyard of the Leaky Cauldron.

'Diagon Alley!' Dumbledore exclaimed happily, and Harry, mishearing him, thought he said _Diagonally _and attempted to place himself at an angle diagonal to the floor. Needless to say, this was a failed venture, and Harry collapsed painfully onto the ground, his cloak defying the laws of gravity and drifting gently down after him.

'Ruddy cloak,' Harry grumbled, getting up and studiously avoiding eye contact with Dumbledore, who was looking at him strangely.

'Alright there Harry?' the old man questioned. Harry grunted in response, before setting off after Dumbledore into the bustling street. There were people everywhere, waving pickles animals in the air; some waving wands and creating large bangs, revealing coloured clouds of smoke, which drifted through the streets, occasionally merging with people, whose skin changed dramatically through a spectrum of colours, before ending in a distinctly unattractive shade of burgundy. Harry repressed a shudder, and vowed to avoid all clouds of smoke. He had no time to look closely at anything else however, as Dumbledore, despite his old age, appeared to possess an agility and speed that Harry himself struggled to keep up with.

Panting slightly, Harry put his head between his legs as they arrived outside a large, white, marble building. Definitely the first solid-looking structure Harry had ever seen. Finally catching his breath, Harry stood up, to find Dumbledore staring at him, eyes twinkling even more so then usual.

'I believe you Harry, are the rotten egg.' It took Harry approximately 32 seconds to figure out what Dumbledore was referring to (his short term memory being notoriously bad).

'Oh,' he finally exclaimed, having figured it out, '_this_ is Gringotts?' Dumbledore beamed, and clapped his hands excitedly.

'Oh Bravo Harry,' he said, in a manner which suggested Harry had just discovered a cure for Dragon Pox.

'Er, thanks,' Harry replied, feeling slightly belittled though unsure why, 'are we going inside?'

Dumbledore chose to answer this question by starting up the marble stairs, and Harry followed. He was once again, so busy trying to keep up with the old man, that he didn't even have time to read the pretty poem above the doorway. Scowling heavily at the missed opportunity, Harry took in the vaulted ceiling, and spacious entrance. Creatures at tellers sat against the walls, and Harry did a double, triple and quadruple take, before figuring out that they were goblins.

'Cool,' he said appreciatively, his mind immediately taking him on a dungeons and dragons type fantasy where he flew around on a Pegasus blasting Goblins left, right and centre. Then he seemed to realise that he was in some sort of bank, evidently run by the goblins, and his fantasies disintegrated in a pile of ash.

'Why are we here?' Harry asked Dumbledore, as the man made his way towards a teller.

'You need to get some money Harry, and I, need to pick something up.' Harry vaguely remembered something about a key, and so didn't press the subject. Banks were so boring, Harry hated them. He only hoped they wouldn't be too long. Even though there were Goblins here, it was highly unlikely that this transaction would be any more interesting then normal banks.

Fifteen minutes, and a rollercoaster ride later, Harry had completely revised his opinion of Gringotts. It was the best bank he'd ever been to. Dumbledore, and their Goblin Guide Griphook (affectionately nicknamed 'Triple G' by Harry), had been somewhat surprised by Harry's reaction to the brake-neck speed and sharp turns of the ride to his vault. He'd thrown his hands up in the air and started yelling something about a rollercoaster and both aged-wizard and goblin had found it strangely disconcerting. The cart came to a stop outside the Potter vault, and Harry leapt out,

'That was awesome Triple G!' Griphook frowned at the total mutilation of his name, but said nothing, instead walking forward to open the vault with a tiny golden key Dumbledore had presented him with, while Harry leapt around, examining the other vault doors that stretched out in a long line next to his own.

'I wouldn't touch them Harry,' Dumbledore cautioned, and Harry drew back his hand from where he was about to run a finger over a delicate looking engraving. Then his own vault door opened, and Harry was shocked into stillness.

'Wow,' he finally managed, as piles and piles of shiny coins glittered back at him, 'that is…a lot.'

'Yes Harry, your parents were quite wealthy at the time of their death. Now, it has all been left to you.' Dumbledore smiled beguilingly, but Harry hardly saw him, at the sight of all this money, thousands of possibilities had raced through his head. At the forefront of his mind was a palace, made entirely out of marzipan and ice cream, Harry's stomach grumbled at the thought, and it took Dumbledore shaking him roughly by the arm to jolt him out of his fantasy.

'Sorry sir, got a bit carried away there,' Harry mumbled as he scooped coins into the large bag the man had offered him.

Back out in the fresh air, Dumbledore pulled out a list of parchment, which on closer inspection, was revealed to contain the list of first year books. Marching off, Harry was once again forced to practically run after him, trying to make it look like he wasn't actually running, Harry ended up skipping, his large hop-steps drawing surprised looks from passer-bys.

Books, potion ingredients, cauldrons, a pet owl later and a wand later (that scenario had been slightly disturbing, Harry having found out his wand was distantly related to Voldemort's – family reunions would be a bitch), Harry and Dumbledore were heading towards _Madam Malkin's robes for all occasions,_ where he would get the black robes which constituted the Hogwarts uniform. Harry, having taken quite a fancy to the cloak he was wearing, had also vowed to buy some more of them. After all, he could most definitely afford it. The door made a loud tinkling noise as they entered, and a cloud of perfumed smoke issued from the door knob. Harry, remembering his initial experiences with said smoke, immediately dodged out of the way. Dumbledore was not as quick though, and his robes immediately disintegrated, falling to his feet in a shower of dusty particles. Harry blanched, and hid his face in his hands, while Dumbledore calmly took in his new attire.

'How fortune I have just entered a robe shop,' the man commented dryly, before conjuring himself a lurid bright purple robe pattered with yellow stars.

While all this had taken place, a woman had come into the front room. She was middle-aged and stately looking and Harry guessed at a glance that this was Madame Malkin.

'Hogwarts dear?' she asked distractedly, batting away a manic looking tape measure which seemed to be forming a noose around her neck.

'Hello there Professor Dumbledore,' she said warmly, having only just spied him, 'finally succumbed to the urge to actually purchase a pair of robes?' She raised her wand warningly, and the tape measure recoiled, slinking back under the front desk, with an air of someone settling in for a good sulk. Dumbledore smiled at the witch, conjuring a frayed and tattered rope, tying it around his waist with a flourish.

'No no, just taking young Harry to get his school robes, nothing beats home made clothes.' Madam Malkin shook her head, before turning her attention to Harry, her eyes performed the familiar flick to his forehead, before her mouth dropped open in a comical 'O' of surprise,

'Well, if it isn't Harry Potter,' she breathed, before snapping out of herself and ushering him into the next room, placing him upon a pedestal (Harry smirked at the irony), and summoning the sulking measuring tape, who began reluctantly taking his measurements.

Finding the concept of a measuring tape sulking a little too strange to handle at the present time (which was strange when considering Harry's past company had included a sexually frustrated cupboard and a demented mirror), Harry turned his attention to the other occupants of the room. Aside from Madam Malkin and himself (Dumbledore had gone to retrieve his parcel from Gringotts – Harry hadn't understood why he couldn't have done it while they were initially there), there was only one other person. A blonde haired boy, who looked about Harry's age was standing deadly still, a half-pinned robe adorning his person.

As if sensing Harry's eyes on him, the boy turned and Green eyes met grey, the blonde gazing coolly at him, before opening his mouth to speak,

'Are you new to Hogwarts this year, my name's Draco Malfoy? I'm just getting my robes done; it's taking an inanely long time.' The boy rolled his eyes, expectantly looking to Harry, no doubt for a charming echo of his previous sentiments. Harry refrained from pointing out that it was rather obvious what the boy was doing here, he didn't want to make enemies before he even got to school, he'd had enough going to school with Dudley. Harry smiled fondly in memory of the time he'd 'accidently' let the class tarantula out of its cage and into the hair of the girl Dudley fancied (in the sense that he would occasionally put mud down her pants). Smiling cheerfully at Draco Harry nodded in affirmation of what the boy had said,

'Yeah, you'd reckon they'd be quicker, what using magic and all. Nice to meet you, I'm Harry Potter.'

Whatever scathing retort Draco had been going to make about Harry's apparent ignorance about magic died on his tongue as soon as Harry introduced himself. He seemed in Harry's opinion, like he had just been his by a bolt of lightning. His eyes had brightened and his carefully slicked back hair looked a little less – slicked. Yes, Harry had a way with description. Laughing at his own internal joke (something he did quite often), Harry was jolted back to the present by Draco speaking again,

'Harry Potter?' Draco was interested; there was no doubt about it. 'It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.' Draco smiled and most probably would have extended a hand for Harry to shake, except for the fact that he was covered in pins and it would no doubt have been a very painful experience. Harry was saved from having to respond by Madam Malkin bustling in and handing him a bag of clothes.

'There you go Mr Potter, that'll be 42 Galleons.' Harry paid and left, waving goodbye to Draco, his hand neatly snapping from side-to-side, in imitation of the Queen's wave.

Dumbledore was waiting outside the shop smoking a pipe. Something which Harry found incredibly strange, not least of all due to the fact that Dumbledore's pipe was shaped like a child's bootie. He wisely chose not to comment. Dumbledore waved cheerily, expelling large amounts of lurid green smoke as he did so. Harry was so preoccupied with Dumbledore's new smoking habit, he forgot to dodge, and was immediately covered by the smoke. He had just time to utter one single expletive, before the world tipped itself upside down. Harry shut his eyes.

When he opened them, he was looking directly into Dumbledore's crotch. With a shriek, he tried to run away, only to crash into the sign hanging from a pole outside Madam Malkin's. There was only one strange thing about this; the sign was at least six foot into the air. Harry shrieked again, as the realisation that he was walking upside down on what was clearly thin air, yet his body seemed convinced it was the ground. While Harry had been shrieking and careening into signs, Dumbledore had wandered over, still smoking his bootie-pipe.

'Ah yes,' he said intelligently, and Harry ceased his shrieks, 'it seems as if the smoke has polarised the gravitational force. You are in effect, for the moment, anti-gravitised.'

Harry stared at him in silence, shocked.

'How long will I be like this for?!' he cried, upon regaining the power of speech.

'I'm not quite sure,' Dumbledore responded, 'at a guess I would suggest no more then twenty-four hours.'

'Twenty-four hours?!'

'Ah yes Harry, your hearing is excellent!' Dumbledore smiled pleasantly, and Harry was seized with the urge to ram his bootie-pipe up his – anyway Harry, back to the issue at hand.

'How will I cope until then?' Harry asked frustrated at the man's seeming lack of caring.

'You'll be fine on the train tomorrow, though until then I suspect you'll have to go back to the Leaky Cauldron and remain in your room, until I send someone to put you on the train tomorrow.' Dumbledore continued smiling, but Harry was not fooled – crafty man! it was clearly a tactic to make sure Harry didn't wander around tonight. Bollocks. Foiled again, Harry thought to himself, conveniently forgetting that in order to be 'foiled again'; he needed to be foiled a first time.

'Let's get you back to the Leaky Cauldron,' Dumbledore was saying, and Harry was forced to obey. Mainly because Dumbledore had conjured and fastened a dog lead around his neck – it being the closest part of him to the man. Harry couldn't help but feel slightly belittled, as he was led through Diagon Alley, people stopped to stare, and Harry took comfort in the fact that him being upside down would probably stop people figuring out who he was.

They arrived back at the Leaky Cauldron and Dumbledore led Harry up to his room, before removing the lead, bidding Harry farewell and shutting the door. Harry was left to his own, upside down self. Walking across the ceiling, Harry spied a note lying on his bed, squinting, Harry found he was just able to discern the words,

_Harry, please hang my cloak in the cupboard. – Tom._

Crap. The cupboard. Harry groaned in frustration, before removing the cloak. Oh well, may as well get it over with.

Walking upside down into a cupboard was not an easy experience, but Harry owed Tom for the fainting incident, so he was going to hang up that cloak. He was only halfway in, when the cupboard, perhaps acting on some very sensitive Harry radar, spoke up,

'Ah, what's this then, a new position? I don't mind, just so long as you're in me!' Harry groaned, but wisely did not respond, not that he had much energy to, it was very hard to walk on the ceiling, namely because there were lots of bars and coat hangers. Harry tripped over a bunch, and they jingled noisily. The cupboard emitted a loud moan,

'Oh baby, that feels good.'

This was entirely too much for Harry. He squeaked loudly, threw the cloak on the nearest coat hanger and fled, slamming the cupboard door behind him with a loud bang. Pulling the bed clothes off the bed and onto the makeshift one he had created on the roof, Harry wrapped himself up and vowed not to come out before morning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**A/N:** Woo, chapter 5. I must thank my reviewers, _Jargon_, _Arianna_, _White Water_ and _WarriorsRockMyWorld_. Your reviews were muchly appreciated. I have a question for you all – Should I add more normalcy into this story – it's sort of trialled in here, please let me know what you think. It will seriously impact the way I write the rest of this story. I'd also like to add that some of the things in here – the bathrooms and chapsticks are things I've always wondered about. What kind of bathrooms does the Hogwarts Express have?! What is the Wizarding equivalent of Chapstick? If you have any other ideas, please, I'd love to hear them.

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Morning arrived with the tinkle of breaking china, as Harry fell from the ceiling and onto the breakfast tray Tom had thoughtfully placed on the table for him. Picking himself up with a disgruntled sigh, Harry's only positive thought was that the spell had worn off in less then twenty-four hours. He had very much doubted his ability to remain incognito, while hanging upside down. The clock on the wall claimed it was nine thirty, but Harry had long since stopped trusting clocks (his own watch being notoriously faulty), and had instead come up with a new method of telling the time.

Lifting a hand to caress a newly shaved patch on the back of his leg, Harry felt the familiar beginnings of stubble. This, alongside the slightly pained feeling from no less then three ingrown hairs informed him that the clock on the wall was more or less correct. Having accidently developed the system four years ago, when Dudley shaved off his eyebrows one night, Harry had come to realise that the hair on his body grew at nanometre intervals, with one nanometre of growth being achieved every hour. It was from this approximate system that Harry had begun to tell the time; though he had relocated the shaved patch to the back of his leg (he rather thought he looked better with two fully grown eyebrows).

Time established, Harry helped himself to a hearty breakfast of chicken pieces, red salmon and toast. Food finished, Harry then repacked his possessions (not because they were unpacked, just because he'd never had this much stuff to pack before), before bidding farewell to the mirror (and cupboard).

'Bye,' Harry said uncertainly, not sure whether the mirror would actually respond, something inside his head was telling him that the whole talking mirror thing had been nothing more then a figment of his occasionally overactive imagination.

'Farewell young lightning,' the mirror responded sorrowfully, causing Harry to start in surprise. Deciding to purposefully ignore the somewhat cryptic farewell, Harry hoisted his trunk over his shoulder, and started his walk downstairs, pausing every couple of steps in order to groan in a put-upon manner (something he'd perfected in the years he had lived with the Dursleys).

Tom greeted him at the base of the stairs, toothless mouth leering at him in a somewhat disturbing imitation of a smile. At another one of Harry's forced groans, Tom immediately pulled out his wand, muttered a spell and to Harry's delight, caused his trunk to go quite weightless. Gravity once again defied, Harry allowed himself a somewhat hearty farewell to the occupants of the bar, convincing himself, despite their almost perverted stares that they were quite nice people deep down. Harry left the bar after a preppy wave to Tom and started down the street. Kings Cross, now, where was the underground?

'Jolly good show young chap,' Harry muttered to himself, upon arriving at Kings Cross. He was quite pleased with his prompt dissection of the London Underground, and had been so on time, that he'd even found a spare couple of minutes to steal a fat kid's pants. Chuckling loudly as he surveyed the billowing pantaloons held in front of him, Harry tucked them into his still weightless trunk, as the despondent cries of the now pantless fat kid drifted through the train station. In truth, Harry felt quite nervous as he approached the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Dumbledore had cheerfully informed him how exactly to reach platform 9 and ¾ but Harry, who had seriously questioned Dumbledore's sanity around the time he suspended him upside down, was starting to have second thoughts.

'Potter, Potter, he's our man, if he can't do it, no one can…' Harry muttered quietly, in the hope of instilling some confidence into himself. Clearly, he was not quiet enough, as a station controller smirked nastily at him, and Harry, feeling the blood rush to his head was quite panicked to feel an onslaught of tears behind them. Sometimes, when Harry was feeling particularly overwhelmed, he was moved to tears. The last time this had happened, Harry had been seven, and everyone was laughing at him because Dudley had put a grasshopper down his pants and the sensation had caused Harry to wet himself. Four years on, alone at Kings Cross Station with a smirking guard and the questionable words of a senile lunatic, Harry was close to loosing it. A slight pressure on his bladder informed him that there was more at stake then his composure. And then, miraculously, it happened.

'Good for nothing muggles, the lot of them, I can't believe we must readily lower ourselves to the same level as this filth – come Draco, the train leaves in fifteen minutes.' Harry, recognising the pale, pointed-faced blonde, was filled with hope. Employing all his tactical sneaking skills, he ducked down behind his trunk and watched, with bated breath as the blonde family walked straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten, and disappeared, not into a puff of smoke, as Harry had long since associated magical disappearances with, but into thin air, or more likely, into the barrier.

'The senile old codger was right…' Harry said out loud, awe apparent in his voice. The train guard gave him another superior look, but Harry was beyond caring. Pushing his trolley at the barrier, Harry mentally prayed to Moses that this wouldn't end badly, shutting his eyes, and waiting for the inevitable crash, Harry was surprised when it didn't come. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with a breath-taking sight.

A large scarlet steam engine sat proudly in front of him, gold lettering informing him that he was set to board _The Hogwarts Express_.

'Creative,' Harry said, to no one in particular, which turned out to be a good thing, as no one was particularly listening to him anyway. Walking over to the train, frustration built up inside Harry like a volcanic eruption as he realised he was too small to be able to get his trunk onto the steam engine. Just as Harry was considering venting his feelings through interpretative dance, a pair of red-headed twins, joined his frustrated musings,

'Well, Gred, I spy and ickle firstie.'

'Right you are Forge.'

'What's the matter firstie?'

'Too puny to-'

'-get your trunk on-'

'-the train?' Harry was sent reeling after this particular spiel, which put him in mind of a somewhat ferocious ping-pong tournament.

'Yeah, that'd be the truth,' he responded, frustration causing his face to redden once again. The twins, taking pity on him grabbed for his trunk, hoisting it onto the train with amused grins.

Harry followed after them, a slight grin on his face, whoever these wranga twins were, he liked them. After depositing his trunk in an empty compartment, the twins turned to Harry, giving a slight bow,

'Farewell, young Potter, we must leave you as-'

'-our friend Lee Jordan has a-'

'TARANTULA!' With these, the twins headed off down the train, leaving Harry slightly stupefied that even they knew his name. He must be bloody famous. Smirking at the strange turn of events, Harry decided to find the bathroom, the earlier pressure on his bladder had grown into something incredibly uncomfortable.

The bathroom, when he found it, was small and pokey looking and uncomfortably reminiscent of the many cupboards Harry had inhabited in the past couple of weeks. Opening the door, Harry stared hesitantly inside. The magically enhanced bathroom contained a large lavatory with several sectioned bathrooms. A large row of sinks sat in front of a wall-length mirror, and Harry noticed to his delight there was a basket of small train-shaped soaps.

'Oooooh!' Harry cried appreciatively, stepping into the bathroom. After using the toilet, which upon inspection was revealed to contain a flush button that, when pressed, set off a napalm-like explosion which completely incinerated the contents of the toilet bowl, Harry washed his hands. About to dry them, a most shocking and damning discovery was made: There were no towelettes.

'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!' Harry cried, long and loud, his voice reverberating around the cavernous bathroom, bouncing off the walls and adding to the loud racket.

It was at the peak of his toweletteless existence, that Harry noticed the door titled 'Linen Cupboard' cunningly set into the wall at his left. Angsty cry abandoned (but most definitely NOT forgotten), Harry set off for the cupboard. It was one of those very big linen cupboards, and peering into it, Harry spotted the towelettes hidden at the very back. By this stage, Harry's hands had dried of their own accord, but with the towelettes in sight, Harry was definitely making plans to wash them again. Harry stepped into the cupboard and started towards the towelettes, they were in sight, only two metres away. Then it happened.

'Do I make you randy baby?' Harry jumped a mile,

'HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?' he cried to the air. The cupboard (for that was who had spoken, seemed unperturbed,

'Lover, lover, you don't do me no good no more,' Harry was pretty sure they were lyrics to a song, but at the moment, he wasn't thinking about lyrics. Somehow, the cupboard had managed to follow him to the linen cupboard of the bathroom of the Hogwarts express. He wasn't even sure how this was physically possible.

'H-how?' Harry stuttered, words all but failing him.

'How what?' the cupboard asked facetiously, 'how do I remain so darn sexy, well I'll tell you, that is a challenge. I mostly just make sure to regularly clean myself out and then…' the rest of the cupboards tirade was tragically cut short, by Harry clean bolting from the bathroom.

Towelettes forgotten, Harry had only one objective in mind: escape. He was so busy fleeing, that he completely missed the person standing outside the door. The person did not miss him however, and the two collided in a flurry of brown hair and round glasses.

'Ooof,' said the interloper, though if Harry were to be completely truthful, he would admittedly admit that he was at least partially responsible for their collision.

'Er, sorry about that…' Harry muttered, at a loss for what excuse he could give. It's not as if the person would believe the truth. Speaking of the person, when they got to their feet it was revealed to be a young girl (probably first year) with hazel eyes and bushy brown hair. She surveyed Harry, before spying the scar on his forehead and emitting a loud gasp,

'You're Harry Potter! I've read about you, you're really famous you know.'

Harry, who had by this point figured that out, did not respond. He was too busy mournfully eyeing his broken glasses, and wishing he knew enough magic to repair them. The girl, noticing his gaze, gasped loudly again,

'Oh gosh, did that happen when you crashed into me, that's just dreadful, do you want me to fix them for you? I read about a spell that should do the job. I'm Hermione Granger by the way.' She said all this very fast, and Harry, who had only caught random words like 'gosh', 'crash', 'fix' and 'Hermione', did nothing but hold his glasses out towards her, in what he hoped was an imploring matter. Pulling out her wand, the girl tapped his glasses once before muttering, _'repairo'_. The glasses magically mended, and Harry put them back on, smiling.

'Thanks, that was jolly decent of you.' the girl tactfully overlooked Harry's slightly gay form of speech, and smiled back.

It was quite the moment, interrupted by the entrance of a pudgy boy, chasing after a toad,

'Ahhh Trevor! Return! Return! Come to thy master!' the interruption was brief, and the old English speaking boy and his toad had soon disappeared further down the train.

'He won't get that toad back for quite some time,' Hermione surmised, and Harry found himself nodding in agreement,

'Too right you are.' Hermione looked at him strangely again and Harry was filled with a need to explain,

'Dreadfully sorry, no doubt you find my strange speech somewhat tiresome on the ears. Sometimes, after I've had a right dreadful shock, I start speaking like a character from an Enid Blyton book. It's a dreadful bother, but should wear off around tea time.' Hermione's look of confusion was replaced with an indistinguishable emotion, wisely, she changed the subject.

'So why were you bolting out of the toilet like you'd just seen a ghost?'

Harry pondered the potential responses in front of him. He could lie, he could tell the truth, he could change the subject, or he could pretend he didn't speak English and sidle away. The last option won out, and Harry slowly started to edge away,

'Sorry, me no speaka de English.' Harry's progress was stopped by a hand on his arm.

'You just spoke English Harry, there's no way you can fool me!' Damn. Hermione was smart.

'Touché, old chap, you've called my bluff. My grasp of the English language is sound. Though as for the truth behind my fear, I profess, I can't tell you yet.' Harry turned slightly, so Hermione was looking at his side profile. He thought it lent him an air of mystery. Once again, Hermione proved him wrong.

'Ok fine, you don't have to tell me now. But why aren't you looking at me? Are you attempting to look mysterious?'

Harry groaned, but wisely did not respond. It was obvious she was trying to pick a fight with him. Either that, or she just had no social skills.

'Methinks you have social difficulties,' Harry said suddenly, choosing to fight fire with fire. Hermione blinked. Harry, upon reviewing his prior statement had to agree with her reaction. Time was slipping by, and they were still standing in the corridor, exchanging… words. Harry wasn't about to call them pleasantries. Hermione was…strange, and Harry needed to get back to his compartment.

'Well, I'm going to my compartment now,' he said, starting to edge away again, hoping she'd get the hint and leave him alone.

'Brilliant! I'll come with you!' Hermione responded brightly, linking her arm through his. Harry mentally cursed whatever deity was currently rolling around with laughter at his situation. First, he was being stalked by an inanimate object, and now his first fri- acquaintance was a socially retarded eleven year old.

'Bollocks,' Harry said loudly.

The two returned to Harry's compartment, which through some twist of fate was still empty. Harry stomped over to a seat by the window, and sat glowering as he stared out at the fast-moving countryside. Hermione, in her token socially retarded way, seemed to be impervious to his standoffish attitude, and sat beside him, chattering on about all the spells she'd taught herself before coming to Hogwarts. It was very very very annoying, and Harry began to entertain fantasies of taking his wand and sticking it up his nose and into his brain. He thought at best, it would kill him, and at worst, mentally retard him. He was even considering going back to the bathroom and allowing himself to be violated by the cupboard, when the door opened, and a familiar blonde stuck his head in.

'My saviour!' Harry cried loudly, this being the second time the blonde boy had saved him from imminent destruction. The boy looked at him strangely before recognising him.

'Ah, so it is true. Potter is on the train.' Harry wasn't quite sure how to respond to this. The boy knew he was Harry Potter, and it was quite obvious that they were both on the train. Unable to see a safe way out of this line of conversation, Harry wisely said nothing, merely nodding in agreement. Behind him, Hermione had stopped talking, and was eyeing the boy in apprehension. The boy seemed to have noticed her, for a slightly vicious grin had spread across his thin lips, and his pointy nose twitched slightly, like a rodent.

'Ah Potter, entertaining a Mudblood I see. Good thing I came along, I'll show you the right folk from wrong.' Draco held out his hand in a gesture of friendship? Guidance? Harry didn't know what, he was incredibly conflicted. On the one hand, Hermione was incredibly annoying, but she had fixed his glasses and seemed nice, despite her social retardation. Draco, on the other hand had inadvertently helped him twice, but he clearly had some sort of complex. Obviously Mudblood was quite rude too; judging from Hermione's shocked face. Suddenly, Harry was struck by an idea. Grabbing Hermione's hand, he propelled her forwards, neatly slipping her hand into Draco's. Standing back, he grinned loudly, before proclaiming,

'I now pronounce the two of your friends.' Skipping back gleefully, Harry watched as his actions sunk in. Draco gave a high pitched shriek and leapt back, while Hermione shrunk away.

'Well that was a huge failure,' Harry said conversationally, as Draco and Hermione both looked mortified.

'What was that all about Potter?' Draco spat nastily. Harry smiled in response,

'Just helping you both make some friends.'

'WE don't NEED help,' Draco and Hermione exclaimed in unison, Harry grinned again.

'You do you know. I've come to the conclusion that you're both socially retarded. What were your parents thinking when they let you both loose on the world?' The effects of Harry's statement were instantaneous. Hermione blushed bright red, and started mumbling something about peer association, while Draco started proclaiming quite loudly that there was nothing wrong with his social skills. Harry laughed loudly, and they both turned their attention to him once again.

'If you both had good social skills, then you'd be much better inclined towards each other, but as it stands, you're not so, you don't.' This said, Harry sat back in his seat, and resumed staring out the window.

A few seconds passed, before Draco appeared at his side.

'You know Potter; you'd be brilliant in Slytherin.' Harry stared at him blankly for about four seconds before realising Slytherin was one of the Hogwarts houses and associated with a snake.

'Yeah, probably,' he responded off-handedly, 'but who knows where I'll actually go.' The two boys lapsed into a contemplative air, which was somewhat disrupted when Harry sneezed loudly, all over Draco.

'Sorry about that,' he said with a grin that suggested quite the contrary. Draco it seemed, had still not made up his mind about the Potter boy and said nothing, content to just sit in passive silence. Hermione was also still sitting with them, though; she was on the other side of the compartment and had clearly chosen to ignore the both of them. Occasionally, she would shoot them both disgruntled glares, before realising they couldn't care less about her, and settling for staring grumpily out the window.

The sky outside darkened, brilliant blue deepening to a darker shade as the sun melted the horizon into a splendorous mix of pink and orange. Harry sat bewitched, as the train hurtled passed.

'Check out the sunset,' he said loudly, nudging Draco in the ribs. The boy obliged, hiding a wince of pain, a widening of his grey eyes, the only indication that he was impressed by what he saw. After a couple more minutes, Draco excused himself to go and get changed, subtly suggesting that Harry do the same.

Rifling around in his trunk for a while, Harry came up with two things. His school robes, and a packet of chapstick. After staring in confusion at the lip balm, Harry was forced to conclude that it had to be some strange sort of parting gift from Dumbledore.

'Er, Hermione,' Harry said quietly, aware that she was still in his compartment, and equally aware that he had to change, 'do you mind leaving while I get changed?' she ignored him, still staring fixedly out the window.

'Alright fine then,' Harry said loudly, before pulling his cloak out of his trunk and draping it over Hermione like she was a budgie being put to bed for the night. Harry changed quickly, and repacked his trunk, removing the cloak from Hermione's head as he did so. She hadn't moved.

'Impressive,' Harry noted, as he resealed his trunk. She'd have to move when the train stopped though, otherwise she'd never get to Hogwarts. Giggling out loud at the thought of Hermione on a perpetual loop from Hogwarts to Kings Cross, Harry missed the re-entrance of Draco.

'Mudblood that amusing Potter?' Draco drawled sardonically, an eyebrow raised in amusement. Harry ignored him, turning his attention back to the packet of chapsticks.

'Now were do you suppose these came from?' he mused out loud, glancing at the bright pink writing which proclaimed these particular chapsticks 'Cherry Flavoured'. Draco moved closer to have a look, and stared at the chapsticks in obvious confusion.

'What,' he asked disdainfully, 'are they?' Harry turned to him with a grin.

'Chapsticks, duh! What do you use when you're lips get dry?' the question obviously floored Draco, who had never considered this before.

'I don't know,' he said slowly, 'in my wizarding experience, I've never once heard of clapsticks.'

'Neither have I,' said Harry seriously, internally laughing at Draco's error.' The blonde boy looked confused, prompting more laughter on Harry's part.

'Don't worry Drake,' Harry said seriously, his face a picture of innocence. Draco's disgruntled look at being addressed as Drake killed that façade though, and Harry laughed long and loud. So much so, that he prompted Hermione to speak once again,

'You call us socially retarded,' she began primly, 'just look at yourself!' Harry laughed some more, before controlling himself.

'Yes, I know I'm socially retarded. At least I admit it. You try living in a cupboard for the first ten years of your life and see how that treats you.' Silence followed his words and Hermione and Draco tried to digest what they had just heard. Harry shuddered, as memories of the talking cupboard pressed down upon him. That thing was just indecent!

The rest of the train ride was passed in relative silence, as Harry tried to convince himself that there would be no more cupboard related altercations, and Hermione and Draco tried to puzzle out the significance of the cupboard statement. Finally, the Hogwarts Express came to a halt, and the three of them embarked. Standing on the platform, wind rushing through his jet black hair, Harry felt strangely poetic. He was sure he looked small and vulnerable against the hulking train, and the wind through his hair and cloak no doubt lent him a romantic air. Speaking of cloaks, Harry glanced down at his and saw, to his extreme delight that it was billowing.

'My cloak is BILLOWING!' Harry shouted to the air, no one except for a red headed boy to his right heard him, and he gave Harry a very strange look.

'How COOL is it?!' Harry asked excitedly, and the boy chuckled nervously, before moving towards an impossibly large man waving a lantern and shouting FIRST YEARS, at the top of his lungs.

Suspecting this was addressed to him as well; Harry jumped down off the platform and made his way over to the hulk of a man.

'Here sir,' Harry said quietly, sidling up next to the beast.

'Yer a good lad,' said the beast, 'I'm Hagrid, keeper of the keys.' Harry didn't hear a single word passed Hagrid. Finally, this was Hagrid.

'You.' Harry said cryptically.

'Me?' Hagrid responded, confused.

'Yes. You. You left me to fester at my aunt and uncles place!' Recognition dawned, and suddenly Harry was swept up into a bone-breaking hug.

'Oh Harry! It's so good to see yer!' Harry felt close to breaking, when the big man finally released him. One large arm still draped around his shoulders, Hagrid steered Harry over to a fleet of boats waiting by the side of a large lake.

'In yer get Harry,' Hagrid said pleasantly, before moving away to help some other first years. Grumbling about the cryptic lack of information, and Hagrid's evasive response to his earlier accusation, Harry climbed into the boat and headed towards the sparkling castle that was Hogwarts.

**A/N:** There we go, cupboard, Hagrid and Hermione. Even threw in some Draco. Who will Harry eventually get pared with? Why not start a pole. Hagrid? Dobby? Hermione? Professor Sprout? Please, share your opinions. I will try and incorporate any ideas people have, I'm a sucker for new material! Please review, it'd make my day! This is my longest chapter yet, at a healthy 17 pages. Next up: the sorting… Oooooh, let's speculate about houses! What house will Harry get in?! I don't even know yet! 


	6. Chapter 6

The trip across the lake was…wet

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing

**A/N:** Ah yes, what house will dear Harry get in? This was something I put some thought into, because I don't think my Harry belongs in Gryffindor, but you never know. Thanks to _White Water_, _Jargon_, _PeopleArentSaneTheCraziesAre_ and _Rock'n'Slash_ for your reviews, I really appreciated them.

The trip across the lake was…wet. There was no other adjective that could properly explain it. Reflecting back on the journey later, Harry had to admit, that he was slightly responsible for the 'wetness' of the journey. Pushing the aggressive red nut out of the boat had seemed like the only good course of action at the time. If the wranga hadn't pulled him in at the last second, then everyone would have been fine. As it was, Hermione and Draco (the other two occupants of the boat), had both leapt to his defence, correctly apportioning blame on the ginga.

'Who you tryin' ta fuck wit?' had been the rather aggressive response from flameboy, as he roughly shook his fist in Harry's general direction.

Finally coming back to the present, Harry forced himself to stop thinking about the red-haired rooster (he was starting to run out of synonyms to describe his redness). All the potential first years were all standing in some kind of Entrance Hall, while a stern looking lady wearing emerald green robes lectured them on the proud traditions they were expected to up hold. After tuning in for a couple of seconds and hearing words such as 'upstanding', 'important' and 'noble', Harry promptly decided this lecture wasn't for him. The lady's stiff manner reminded him uncomfortably of Aunt Petunia. Harry sincerely hoped this one was nicer, otherwise he'd be forced to sneak a toad into HER morning cereal, just like he'd done with Petunia. Ah, the memories.

'Harry!' came a strangely persistent voice, followed by a sharp jab in the ribs. Upon locating the source of the pain in his ribs, Harry found Hermione staring at him in annoyance.

'What?' Harry asked in irritation, the pain in his ribs still paining him.

'Professor McGonagall just asked to line up in alphabetical order and you just stared into space!'

'Who?' Harry asked in confusion, standing his ground.

'Who?' Hermione repeated in exasperation, 'only the lady that's been lecturing us for the past ten minutes. What have you been doing?' Harry shrugged and got into line behind a blonde girl, who cheerfully introduced herself as Sally-Anne Perks. Harry smiled at her, and glanced around her at the rest of the line.

In front of Sally-Anne were a pair of Indian twins. Harry thought they looked much more interesting then Sally-Anne.

'Say, can we swap places?' Harry asked the blonde girl who eyed him in surprise.

'Er, why?'

'Because I want to impersonate you.' The girl stared at Harry, her face a mixture of disbelief, confusion and outright suspicion. 'Jokes…' Harry said with a smirk, dodging around her in the line and tapping the twin closest to him on the shoulder.

'Greetings,' Harry said cheerily, and the twin glanced at Harry and raised her eyebrow, 'مثل إسلام ، هذا توائم مجرّدة ، لا غريبات.'

By this time the other twin had turned around.

'What?' she asked Harry, both eyebrows raised, the confusion on her face mirroring that of her twin.

'مثل إسلام ، هذا توائم مجرّدة ، لا غريبات.' Said Harry again, smiling for added effect.

'Just like I thought,' the second twin said to the first, before stepping around her still confused sister to whack Harry over the head.

'We're Hindu, not Arabic you retard. And anyway, hopefully from this encounter you have managed to deduce that we are fluent in English.' This said, both twins turned to glare at Harry, whose grin had widened considerably.

'أه ، غير أنّ ماذا واحدة يستطيع تكلّمت هناك ما من برهان من الأخرى.' He said, shaking his head despondently as if to reaffirm his point.

'WE CAN'T SPEAK RUDDY ARABIC!' cried twin one, quite suddenly, and very loudly. Everyone in the line went deathly silent, and Harry was sure, despite their dark skin, both twins were blushing profusely.

'He's mocking our race!' cried twin two, uncomfortable with all the attention. She jabbed her finger at Harry who in turn smiled as all attention was suddenly fixed on him.

'I assure you I was not,' Harry countered with a warm smile (he knew how to end all this), 'by the way,' he said, seemingly to the twins, 'the name's Harry Potter, nice to meet you.'

The twins blanched, as the rest of the room followed suit.

'H-harry potter?' he heard one kid whisper, before the whole line erupted into loud murmurs.

'He's the one'

'Survived the killing curse.'

'You-know-who.'

'I heard he spent the past 10 years training with ninjas.'

'I heard he's going to be the next dark lord.' Harry caught fragments of conversation as they drifted around the room. He particularly liked the idea that he was from a different planet. Sally-Anne Perks, who had by this stage drifted to a different place in line, was telling everyone who would listen how Harry had become so enamoured with her that he had told her he wanted to impersonate her, and after all, imitation was the highest form of flattery.

Line up successfully disturbed, Harry resumed his place in line, after exchanging amused glances with Draco, and apologetic ones with Hermione. He was calmly brushing down his robes when the doors opened again and Professor McGonagall reappeared in the door way. There was an immediate squeal and several students scarpered back to their place in line, as McGonagall glared disapprovingly down at them. Harry tried his best to look innocent, something he had perfected over the years when informing Vernon he had no idea how the family of Field Mice had appeared in the man's underwear draw. While the look rarely worked with Vernon, it seemed to be ok by the elderly professor, who offered him a warm smile before directing the now orderly line of first years into the Great Hall.

Wow, was the one word that jumped into Harry's head upon entering the Great Hall. Four massive tables were set in front of a raised table upon which sat several teachers. The gold plates and hovering candles were pretty cool, but they were nothing compared to the ceiling which currently reflected the nights sky, complete with twinkling and the occasional shooting star.

'It's bewitched to look like the sky,' Harry heard Hermione informing whoever was unlikely enough to be next to her in the alphabet, 'I read about it in Hogwarts, A History.' Judging from the lack of response, Hermione had in fact been ignored. Harry controlled the temptation to laugh. His humour quickly gave way to nerves as he finally noticed that the room was filled with hundreds of students, all whom were looking at the first years in undisguised amusement

'Take a picture, it'll last longer,' Harry muttered under his breath, trying to recapture his earlier attitude. Like most of Harry's brief moods, this one was not returning anytime soon, so Harry was forced to succumb to his nerves. To distract himself from his anxiety, Harry tried a trick which, he had found worked quite well when being lectured by Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia.

'And you are all …fruit salad!' Harry said to himself, clicking his fingers. His imagination handled the rest, and soon enough Harry was standing in line between a banana and a rockmelon, while a large cantaloupe with a list called the first person in line to come and sit on a large stool, next to which was placed a ratty looking hat.

'Bother, I want fruit, not items of clothing!' Harry scolded himself, before realising that the hat was in fact, a hat.

'Abbot, Hannah,' cried the cantaloupe, and a large, portly plum waddled over to the stool. The hat was placed on the plum's head, and Harry let out a cackle at the funny image. A few seconds after that, a hole appeared in the brim and cried loudly,

'HUFFLEPUFF!' A table to Harry's immediate right started cheering loudly and the plum waltz off to join them. Scenario now all too strange for Harry to handle, he forced himself to stop imaging everyone as fruit. This was more difficult than he'd first thought, not only was his brain at least partially convinced everyone was actually fruit, but it had formed a strange attachment to the Cantaloupe.

After several unsuccessful minutes of trying to see everyone as people again, during which he completely missed Draco being sorted into Slytherin, and Hermione into Gryffindor, Harry heard his name called.

'Potter, Harry.' A silence descended upon the crowd, and a group of blueberries jumped around so violently that they exploded in a shower of blue juice and skin. Alright, now his imagination was just disturbing. Shaking his head roughly, Harry moved off towards the cantaloupe, from whose voice he had deduced to be Professor McGonagall. Sitting down on the stool, Harry placed the hat on his head, where it slipped down over his eyes, effectively hiding the fruit-filled room from view.

'Well, well, well, what do we have here?' Came a small voice above Harry's left ear, 'Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived.'

_Another inanimate object is communicating with me._ Harry thought despondently.

'Ah, you've had some rough dealing with a cupboard and a mirror I see,' the cupboard murmured in response to Harry's thought, which slightly creeped the boy out.

_This is weird- can you hear everything I think?_

'Of course I can, I'm a magic hat!'

_Ah yes, that's supposed to make everything MUCH clearer._

'No need to get snarky! With that cheek, I might put you in Slytherin.'

_How is threatening me with a house going to do anything? You're going to have to put me somewhere!_

'Ah, touché.' After this, the hat lapsed into silence for a few seconds, before muttering out loud, 'hmm, tricky. You're a cunning one, especially from what I can see, Slytherin would do you good, but you're loyal and brave as well. Gryffindor maybe…' Meanwhile, Harry was entertaining thoughts about what house he'd get into.

_I want a house with no cupboards._

'Eh, what was that boy? No cupboards. Ah, I see why. What's so bad about Manfred anyway?'

_Manfred? That psychopathic thing has a name?_

'Yes, yes, Manfred is lovely.'

_Put me somewhere were I won't have to interact with him._

'No. Manfred has clearly taken a liking to you, I'll put you in-'

_You-you bastard!_

'- SLYTHERIN!'

Harry hoped off the stool to find Draco's table cheering animatedly, while the rednut from the boat glared at him, and Hermione looked disappointed. Harry didn't have time to gage anymore results because McGonagall was pushing him towards his table.

'Ooh, you're not a cantaloupe anymore!' Harry said happily, while the woman stared at him in confusion. Harry used the brief lapse in the woman's poking to skip over to the Slytherin table.

'Made any friends yet?' Harry enquired as he sat down next to Draco.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Draco asked, voice tinged with annoyance.

'Well, what it means is: Draco dear, as we earlier discovered you, like Hermione and me, are somewhat socially retarded. Therefore, as with any socially retarded person, they need regular encouragement, should they attain any social achievement. Therefore, I am enquiring as to your current friendship count, so as to congratulate you, should it have climbed any higher.' Harry finished his speech with a broad smile, hand poised, ready to clap Draco on the back, should he disclose he had in fact made another friend.

'What are you on about Potter?' Draco finally asked, after several seconds of pronounced silence.

'I thought it was obvious!' Harry said mournfully. About to explain again, he was distracted by the sight of a familiar red-haired boy approaching the hat.

'It's HIM!' Harry cried, poking Draco in the arm, 'the wranga that pulled me overboard.' Draco followed Harry's gaze before sniggering loudly.

'Looks like a Weasley to me.'

'What is a Weasley?' Harry asked in confusion, thinking he was missing out on a truly corking wizarding insult.

'A Weasley?' Draco repeated, confused.

'Is it a truly corking wizarding insult?' Harry prompted. To his surprise, Draco laughed.

'No, but it should be, Weasley is his last name.' Harry blinked in surprise.

'Oh, how unfortunate for him, it sounds like weasel. I feel sorry for that kid, red hair and a name that sounds like a rodent.'

'Are weasels rodents?' Draco asked, perplexed.

'I don't know- Oh gods, he got into Gryffindor.' Sure enough, Weasley, now pale green, collapsed into a chair at a table on the other side of the hall.

The last boy, Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin. He came and sat with Harry and Draco.

'Ooh Draco!' Harry said, eyeing Blaise speculatively.

'I think I spy a FRIEND!' Blaise stared at Harry in slightly fearful confusion, while Draco repeatedly banged his head on the table. Harry however, was not put off by either's behaviour.

'HI!' he said loudly, holding out a hand for Blaise to shake, 'I'm Harry Potter.' The dark-skinned boy took the proffered hand,

'Yes, I was aware. Blaise Zabini, pleasure to meet you.'

'Yes, I was aware,' Harry parroted, before bursting into laughter. Before they could develop this fascinating conversation, a wizened old man got to his feet.

'Dumbledore!' Harry said, more loudly then he'd intended. The man smiled benignly at Harry, while Draco rolled his eyes and Blaise looked confused.

'Welcome,' Dumbledore said, 'welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thankyou!' this said, he sat down and before anyone had time to ponder the headmaster's sanity, they golden plates before them filled with food.

'Ah Dumbledore,' said Harry fondly, as he tucked into his Yorkshire pudding, 'what a funny little man.' The way Harry spoke, one would think he was talking about the deranged hobo that lives in the bus shelter, that everyone pretends to be afraid of but secretly gives food too so that he'll stay around and keep things interesting. He had conveniently forgotten his previous run in with Dumbledore, where the man had caused him to walk upside down for several hours.

'What are you on about?' that was clearly Draco again, and Harry chose not to answer him, not least of all because his mouth was filled with Yorkshire pudding. He swallowed and turned his attention to Blaise again.

'So, Blaise,' Harry began, and the black boy's attention returned to him, 'how many friends do you have?' Blaise looked slightly affronted by Harry's blunt question, so he merely raised an eyebrow in response.

'Come now Blaise, I lived in a cupboard for the first ten years of my life, you can't seriously expect me to be that normal can you?' Beside him, Draco snorted.

'You're going to milk the cupboard thing for all it's worth aren't you?'

'Why yes, yes I am.'

'Trust.' Was Malfoy's response, as he tucked back into his sausages. Harry pouted for all of five seconds, before shrugging and turning back to Blaise.

'Don't mind Draco, he's socially retarded, anyway, who else got into Slytherin? I was too busy imagining McGonagall as a cantaloupe to notice.'

Silence followed this statement, before Blaise collected himself enough to answer Harry.

'There are seven others, Parkinson, Davis, Bulstrode and Greengrass are the girls, and I'm sure you've met Crabbe and Goyle. Theodore Nott is this charmingly silent lad to my left,' Blaise indicated to a thin looking boy whom Harry had not noticed until that second.

'Howdy,' Harry said, with a bad attempt at a Texan accent, as he offered his hand to Theo, 'It's mighty fine to meet ya.' Nott stared at him, faced veiled before taking the proffered hand and shaking it lightly.

'Pleasure,' he said softly, voice rich and cultured despite its quietness.

'You're quite the wall flower aren't you?' said Harry pleasantly, though it was obvious he had no idea what a wall flower was. Nott stared at him in confusion for a few seconds before taking note of Draco's eye rolling and Blaise's mildly amused expression and turning away.

They were saved the necessity of further awkward conversation by the disappearance of dessert. Dumbledore stood up again and spread his arms for silence.

'Ahem – just a few more words now we are fed and watered. I have a few start of term notices to give you.' Upon hearing this, Harry promptly tuned out. While Dumbledore spoke, he tried his hand at levitating the candle into Weasley's hair. He was almost certain he had managed to make it wobble, almost got it, almost –

'-to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.' Harry jerked in shock, the impact causing his wand to twitch strangely. The candle, while not levitating, fell into Weasley's lap, catching the table cloth on the way down and causing it to burst into flames. Weasley, whose lap was sadly not flammable, had nevertheless was suffering from wax burns. He jumped up off his seat and floundered around screaming, whilst several prefects and professors hurried to put out the burning mass of tablecloth that was Gryffindor table.

'Er- could prefects please lead students to their dormitories while professors remain behind to disperse of the fire hazard,' said Dumbledore calmly, while prefects hurried to gather their houses together. Harry, Blaise, Draco and Theo, along with most of Slytherin house were howling with laughter, as they got up from their seats and moved out into the Entrance Hall.

'Merlin, I'd love to know who pulled off that prank,' Draco wheezed between laughter, as they made their way into the dungeons, 'I'd kiss them!' He subsided back into laughter as the group came to a halt in front of a stone wall.

'Purity,' said one of the prefects, and they stumbled inside. Making their way into the dormitory, Harry pulled Draco aside as they entered a room labelled FIRST YEAR BOYS.

'Pucker up then Malfoy,' said Harry teasingly, watching with amusement as the look of confusion on Draco's face faded to one of shocked disgust.

'Purely hypothetical Potter,' the blonde smirked, before strolling into his room. Harry allowed himself a moment to grin, before following him inside. There were six green four-poster beds.

'Guys, Draco just tried to kiss me,' Harry said as he jumped onto the only unoccupied bed. Hearty sniggers filled the room as Draco tried valiantly to defend his sexuality. 'He would deny it, now that he's been rejected,' Harry commented understandingly, shaking his head. As he lay back on his bed, Draco's violent protests filling the room, he reflected that not only had his time at Hogwarts been cupboard free, it had also been pretty fun.

_That hat was so wrong; I've definitely seen the last of that cupboard._

Oh, how wrong he was.

**A/N:** Ah, an update, this chapter is a little shorter, but hopefully it's ok. It was a little harder to write then the other ones. Please, give me some feedback, and let me know any ideas you have for upcoming chapters. What do you think about Harry in Slytherin? I figured my Harry was a little more cunning then canon Harry.

TRANSLATIONS (I hope- I got this off a terrible internet translator):

مثل إسلام ، هذا توائم مجرّدة ، لا غريبات. - Like Islam, these are mere twins, not strangers

أه ، غير أنّ ماذا واحدة يستطيع تكلّمت هناك ما من برهان من الأخرى. – Ah, but what one can speak there is no proof of the other.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:**I own nothing. Still. Yay.

**A/N:** I started this chapter before I was supposed to (I still have 5 exams left. Goddd... one in two days. I should be studying/sleeping.) because all my reviews made me so happy. In particular, I would like to thank _Jargon_ and _White Water_. These two have been with me from the start and I really wish they'd leave me signed reviews because I'd love to be able to reply to them!! This chapter is dedicated to them, because they really have been my most faithful reviewers. Also thanks to _Rock'n'Slash_, _Magpie Quill_, _Ellyanah_, _Warrior Priestess_,_Befread_ and _IVTwenty_ (sibling of anyway)- your reviews were loved! On with the show!!



Harry awoke to his glasses poking him in his left ear. It was a strange sensation, not unlike cleaning your ears with a piece of wire instead of a cotton bud. Harry liked it. Upon returning to consciousness, Harry realised that the reason for his state of almost complete dress was due to the fact he had fallen asleep in his clothes.

'Bollocks,' Harry said loudly, so loudly that he woke up Blaise, who had been sleeping fitfully in the bed to his right. 'Morning!!!' Harry bellowed at the unfortunate boy, displaying a surprising amount of enthusiasm considering he'd just woken up with his glasses in his ear.  
Blaise blinked.  
Harry grinned.  
Blaise groaned.  
Harry waved.  
Blaise rolled over and went back to sleep and Harry frowned in disappointment. Blaise was so far proving to be very entertaining and Harry was inclined to think that there would never be a dull moment around him.

Blaise now sleeping once again, Harry turned back to more pressing concerns, finding his trunk. The Slytherin dormitories consisted of six green four poster beds and three doors. Harry was already aware of one being the door they'd come in through and the other one being the bathroom, so he figured it was highly likely that their trunks were through the third door. They definitely weren't in the bedroom, which was so sparsely furnished Harry felt like a child in the depression era, though one which was considerably better fed, there would be NO rabbit stew for him if he could avoid it.

Pulling himself out of his disturbing train of though, Harry jumped out of bed and, adopting a spy-like crouch, slunk towards the third door.  
'What are you doing?' It was Draco. Harry jumped and whirled around in surprise, pointing an imaginary laser at Draco's immaculately parted head. The blonde in question, was sitting Indian-style on his bed, cross-eyed and toes pointed, he looked like a deranged monk. Harry raised an eyebrow strangely not disturbed by Draco's pose,  
'I think the real question is, what are YOU doing. You look like a retard.' Draco ignored him, though he did uncross his eyes. Harry eyed the third door. Then he eyed Draco.  
'Draco, are our trunks behind the third door?' Harry asked. Draco had pretty much announced himself to be the knower of all things Slytherin, so Harry thought he was pretty safe asking him.  
'Duh. Slytherin house is not like all the other _Plebeian_ houses. They all keep their trunks at the foot of the bed,' Draco shook his head sadly, as if the very idea of keeping his trunk at the foot of his bed caused him physical pain, 'ours are unpacked and divided into sections behind that door. It's like one big dressing room!'

Draco smiled manically at the end of what was meant to be a one-word answer. Harry blinked, for a moment understanding how Blaise must have felt approximately two and a quarter minutes ago. Then he remembered that Draco was socially retarded, and smiled encouragingly back at him.  
'Well done Draco!' Harry said, voice incredibly patronising, 'you're getting really good at prolonging conversations. Tomorrow, we'll start you on directing conversations!'Harry ended his pep talk with a large grin and double thumbs up, which died as soon as he noticed Draco's withering glare. Pouting, Harry decided to ignore Draco (he was like a dog, you had to be really obvious when they had done the wrong thing) and focused instead of the much more pressing concern: finding his trunk. Walking towards the third door, Harry ignored whatever stupid words were now coming out of Draco's mouth and opened the door, partially closing it behind him as he stepped inside.

As soon as he entered the semi-darkness of the space behind the door, Harry realised three things:

He'd made a terrible mistake

The sorting hat had been maliciously correct

The third door was the door to a cupboard

He uttered a strangled moan and tried to silently edge towards either his trunk or the exit. Unfortunately, there was a trunk right in front of him and Harry tripped and fell with a large thunk. Whether or not this was the catalyst for the revelation of Harry's whereabouts, or if the cupboard merely used it as a conversation starter, Harry would to this day never know.  
'Still falling head-over-heels for me I see.' The cupboard began, voice low and rough in what Harry assumed was an attempt at being husky, 'Boris did say I'd be seeing you around. Gosh, you've got to love that mangy old hat; he sure knows how to keep a cupboard happy.' The cupboard laughed, it was a high-pitched, strangely disturbing noise which Harry found did not suit his perception of the cupboard at all. As a matter of fact, he found it very disturbing.  
'L-leave me alone Manfred!' Harry said, none-too-convincingly. The cupboard preened.  
'Oooh, you know my name sexy! I'm flattered; I assume Boris gave it to you. It'll give you something to scream while I'm rocking your world baby!'

This was all too much for Harry, once again. He squeaked in shocked disgust and bolted, forgetting the door was partially closed. He hit the heavy oak door at full-speed and crashed to the ground unconscious almost at once.  
'Ah, what fools love makes us.' The cupboard said with a wistful sigh. Luckily Harry was unconscious, and therefore unable to hear the latest update on his relationship status.

Harry awoke several hours later (or so it seemed, he had in fact, only been unconscious for thirty-two seconds), to the gentle feeling of a wash cloth across his head.  
'Mmmm,' was all the speech he was able to manage as the washcloth was pressed slowly to his forehead, 'vats good,' Harry managed to drawl before struggling to open his eyes.  
'Goyle, put that bloody wash cloth down,' snapped Draco's voice and Harry, forgetting his concussion, sat bolt upright.  
'Goyle. What?!' The boy in question smirked stupidly, waving the wash cloth in the air. Harry shuddered, the action causing memories of his earlier altercation to coming crashing back down on him, 'IT'S HERE! IT'S HERE!' Harry shrieked suddenly, causing Draco, Goyle, Blaise and Theo (Crabbe was conspicuously absent) to jump back in alarm.  
'What, what's here?' Draco asked, a look of alarm spreading across his aristocratic features.  
'The cupboard!' Harry cried despondently, not understanding when all four boys burst out laughing.  
'Oh golly, Potter's scared of a cupboard,' Blaise jeered, a smirk spreading across his dark face.  
'Golly?' Draco intervened quite suddenly, previous joke forgotten. Blaise blushed.  
'I didn't say golly... I said... jolly... you know, 'oh jolly' I was being SARCASTIC!' Even Harry joined in the laughter this time, though the bespeckled boy in question was still shaking slightly at the memory of the cupboard.

Once they'd calmed down some more Draco turned to Harry, an eyebrow raised quizzically and Harry was quite sure that Draco's social retardation was about to rear its ugly head. He was right.  
'So, why are you scared of cupboards?' Harry was silent- pondering how to explain it in a way in which Draco's social retardation would not hinder his understanding.  
'Well. I guess it's because the cupboard sexually harasses me and I think that if I was ever to stay in there too long, it would violate me.' Silence greeted his words. Blaise looked startled, Goyle blinked and Draco's face was scrunched up in thought as he tried to figure out what Harry meant by 'violate'. 'Have sex with me, Draco.' Harry said by way of explanation, but Draco, who we have by this stage established as being a bit 'different', thought Harry was propositioning him and turned pale green in shock.  
'Wh-what?' Draco's eyeballs bulged as he stared at Blaise and Goyle, as if looking for reaffirmation that what he'd just heard was for real.  
'Yes Draco, Harry wants to have sex with you,' Blaise deadpanned, so obviously that even Goyle managed to understand what was going on. Once again, Draco proved his immense LACK of social skills and completely missed the sarcasm which accompanied Blaise's statement.

'Harry... look, I know I might have given you the wrong idea last night. But I'm an eleven year old boy. I'm not even thinking about those kinds of things; let alone what my sexual preference is.' To say that Draco was surprised when the whole room erupted into laughter would be an understatement. To say that it took him a little while to figure out he'd totally misunderstood the whole situation would be an even bigger understatement. By the time Harry had convinced Goyle to bring his trunk outside and he'd gotten changed, and the five boys (we must remember that Theo was also there as well) had made it down to breakfast, a scowl had broken out on Draco's face and he was trying not to blush.

Breakfast was a subdued affair next to the 'excitement' of that morning. Draco was sulking- glowering at anyone who so much as asked him to pass the butter. Harry was still in shock after his morning altercation (a terrible way to start the day if you asked him), Blaise sat there sniggering, Goyle was still fingering the wash cloth he'd used to wake Harry up, Theo was, well- Theo and Crabbe was still AWOL. The only notable happening was the arrival of their timetables.  
'Double Potions with Gryffindors?' Draco was jolted out of his sulk by this clearly amusing piece of news.  
'Eh?' was Harry's response, and Draco hastened to fill him in.  
'Snape _hates_ Gryffindors. Everyone knows this. He'll favour us and deduct millions of points from them, it'll be GREAT!' Harry stared at Draco, unsure how to react. This had surpassed even his own levels of social retardation.  
'So let me get this straight,' Harry said slowly, maintaining eye contact with Draco. (You must always reaffirm that YOU are talking to THEM.) 'You want the entirety of Gryffindor House to hate you?' Draco nodded happily, as if this fact should have been obvious. Harry stared, coughed lightly and turned back to his breakfast.  
'But Harry, Slytherins and Gryffindors ALWAYS hate each other. It's tradition.' Harry, not sure he was particularly enjoying the particular vein this conversation was following, decided to abandon it before things got too weird. Luckily, Harry Potter always had a way to get out of awkward conversations. Some might call it a gift, but Harry preferred to call it pure skill.

'BLAISE!' he cried loudly, and the boy in question looked up at him, a slightly apprehensive look marring his otherwise saccharine features. Harry grinned broadly, and Blaise felt the four Danish pastries he'd just eaten sink a little lower in his gut.  
'Yes?' he finally responded after Harry had stared at him for a good four minutes- maniacal grin still firmly in place.  
'Oh Blaise,' Harry sighed, eyes glazing over, a wistful look skating across his face.  
'Oh shit.'  
'Oh BL-aise.'  
'No Harry.'  
'Blaaaaaaaaaaaise.'  
'Ok seriously Harry, what the HELL.'  
'Bla-a-a-a-aise.'  
'You are such an idiot.' Harry chose to ruin this riveting conversation by bursting into tears. The whole of Slytherin table stared; Draco included (his previous conversation having been forgotten). Blaise looked uncomfortable, and as usual completely unsure of how to handle Harry.  
'Blaise, why must you scorn me so,' Harry sobbed between tears. His glasses had fogged up and so he looked like he had some strange milky eye disease. 'I was going to make you my queen. We were going to ride in a limousine.'

Now, if Harry had stopped speaking after the first sentence, thing might have been alright. Blaise was pretty easy-going as far as things went and most probably would have just apologised and gone back to eating his fifth Danish pastry. But Harry had said the one thing that every eleven year old boy hates. He had called Blaise a queen- and in doing so insinuated that he was a girl. Blaise saw red. This could be because he was staring at the Gryffindor banner. Whatever the reason, it fuelled his anger. (No wonder Gryffindors are so bloody volatile- they should be surrounded by SOOTHING colours.)  
'Harry. You've crossed the line.' Harry had no time to wonder what Blaise meant with that cryptic phrase, because the boy in question had leapt from his seat and crash-tackled Harry to the ground.

A potentially brutal scene was averted with the arrival of Crabbe.  
'Where have you been?!' Draco demanded of his faithful lackey as Crabbe grabbed Blaise by the scruff of his neck and peered at him intently.  
'You were in my dream,' Crabbe said softly, ignoring Draco in favour of staring at Blaise obsessively. Blaise shivered and tried not to notice that the hand Crabbe had grabbed him with was now caressing his neck.  
'Ok seriously dude, what the hell are you doing?' Blaise demanded, and Crabbe hurriedly withdrew his hand.  
'You're just so...beautiful...' Crabbe whispered, and awed note evident in his soft tones. At this, Harry couldn't hold it in any longer; he exploded into laughter, shortly followed by most of the Great Hall, who had gathered around once the fight had broken out. Blaise flushed bright red, wrenched himself out of Crabbe's grip, boxed Harry in the face and sprinted from the hall. Harry watched him go, still laughing despite the blood steadily dripping from his nose.  
'Harry.' Draco was scowling heavily, Harry, for the life of him, couldn't figure out why, 'we're going to the hospital wing.' Without waiting for an answer, Draco pulled Harry towards the door.

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Draco and Harry were five minutes late to potions.  
'What a way to start of our first ever class, aye Drake?' Harry commented airily, grinning at the pale-faced blonde beside him.  
'What did you just call me?' Draco asked, eyes narrowed.  
'Drake!' Harry said with a grin, skipping into the classroom.

Snape scowled as Harry and Draco slipped into his classroom- LATE. He'd been afraid something like this would happen, though it was disheartening that it had occurred so soon. When Harry _Bloody_ Potter had been sorted into Slytherin house, Snape had forgotten to swallow his water. Professor Sinastra had had to perform mouth-to-mouth on him and it had been most embarrassing. Luckily, Snape had fallen off his chair BEHIND the staff table, so only Professor Flitwick had really seen what was going on. All jokes (and chokes) aside: Harry Potter, son of total arch-nemesis was totally in his house. Now, Snape fully wasn't a valley girl or anything, but even he knew this was totally out of logical jurisdiction.

In case you are confused by Snape's moral/ethical/mental/metaphysical dilemma allow me- your for the most part omnipresent narrator- remind you that Snape, as head of Slytherin house is expected to protect and assist his valuable little serpents. This in mind, Snape's current issue lay in how best to treat the Potter in question. Yes, he hated him, but yes, he was a Slytherin and as such Snape had a duty of care not to treat the boy like shit. Look, there was no doubt, Snape was in a pickle. Should he abuse Potter? Perhaps deduct some points, time was running out- already Harry was halfway across the room. Snape couldn't resist any longer, he had to speak.  
'Potter, Malfoy, so kind of you to join us.'

The two boys froze in their tracks, both turning to look at Snape. Draco's face wore a priceless look of shock, while Harry was infuriatingly smiling.  
'Sorry Professor S- just had to pop to the hospital wing.' Harry offered another smile, this one obviously in parody of an apologetic look, before pulling Draco over to a table. If Snape hadn't been nearly apocalyptic with rage, he may have noticed the murderous looks a pair of Indian twins gave Harry, or the way a wranga at the front was quite aggressively shaking his fist. Even Hermione had one eyebrow raised, though they may have been due to Harry patting her on the head as he walked past.

Had he noticed this, Snape may have reached the conclusion that a number of people appeared not to like Harry Potter at present. This would probably have done nothing to remove murderous feelings destroying Snape like Hurricane Katrina and New Orleans. Professor S?! What the HELL. No one in the Snape's teaching experience had EVER called him Professor S. Snape was so angry that he strode right up to the board and started writing on it, clean forgetting all about his intimidating speech and very difficult random questioning. Of course, when he did remember to do this, it was far too late for it to have any effect. This only made him more angry. All in all, not a good day for Severus Snape.

Meanwhile, Harry had been cheerfully aware of the Patil twins glares and Ron's gansta fist-waving. He'd blown them all kisses and sat down at a table with Draco and two girls, giving Hermione a friendly head pat on the way past – she was just like a friendly golden retriever.  
'Aloha!' Harry said to the two girls.  
'Hi Harry,' they chorused. Harry looked expectantly at Draco before remembering he was socially retarded and deciding he'd have to take matters into his own hands.  
'Sorry, Draco's socially retarded and so is obviously not going to introduce you two. I spose you both know I'm Harry Potter.' The girls laughed, and Draco scowled.  
'I'm Daphne Greengrass,' said a pretty blonde one, 'and this is Tracey Davis,' she added- pointing a finger and the dimpled brunette on her right.  
'Cool! Dimples!' Harry said excitedly, poking Tracey's cheek. Both girls looked surprised, but recovered quickly, giggling nervously. Draco chose this moment to intervene,  
'Don't mind Harry, he lived in a cupboard his whole life- doesn't know how to interact with people.' He shot Harry a superior look. Harry did not notice it.

At the mention of the word cupboard, Harry had gone white. The events of the morning were replaying themselves through his head on some sort of endless loop. Snape, who had been hovering bat-like in the shadows, seized on this apparent phobia, swooping down on the group abruptly.  
'Your talking has put you all behind. Potter, go to the supply cupboard and fetch the ingredients' for the potion.' When Harry looked about to argue, Snape smiled nastily, 'that isn't a question Potter- it's an order.' Pain face in place, Harry got up and stalked off to the other end of the room.

_Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit_. Cupboards. Bad. Scary. Monosyllabic thoughts. This was a brief synopsis of Harry's thoughts as he made his way towards to supply cupboard. Luckily this potion was simple and all they needed was Beetles eyes, Aconite and some Boomslang skin. Surely he could sneak in, grab the ingredients and then get the hell out. The cupboard door loomed ahead and Harry's palms began to sweat. He opened the door and stepped inside, glancing around at the dingy interior. First year ingredients were always nearest the door and Harry had successfully snagged the Aconite and Beetles eyes before it happened.  
'If you're looking for Boomslang skin, you're going to have to penetrate... deeper,' moaned a familiar voice, and Harry, despite having expected something of the sort jumped and almost dropped his Aconite.

Trying to ignore the voice, Harry walked further into the cupboard, spying the Boomslang skin sitting on a shelf.  
'Oh yeah. Touch it.' Harry jumped and squawked loudly. 'Ah! So THAT'S your sex noise?!' The cupboard exclaimed in pleasure before braying like a donkey. 'That's MY one baby, up for it?'Harry screamed in pure terror, grabbed a handful of Boomslang skin and bolted, pausing only to make sure the door was open before sprinting back into the classroom.

He arrived in a mix of sweat and pure terror, to the combined amusement of Draco, Daphne and Tracey.  
'Something the matter Harry?' Daphne inquired politely, her amused smirk somewhat ruining her concern.  
'Just a cupboard that wants to shag me,' Harry panted, dumping the ingredients on the table and taking his seat. Daphne and Tracey stared. Draco, who had heard it all before simply scowled before muttering,  
'Is this where you ask someone to have sex with you?' Harry laughed, feeling much better now the cupboard was safely over the other side of the room. Daphne was tugging at his sleeve, demanding a better explanation, while Tracey looked intrigued. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry looked around for Snape and, finding him somewhat occupied with a pale-faced boy who seemed to have melted his cauldron, settled back into his chair.  
'Alright, I'll tell you. But it's kind of a long story. It all started the day before my eleventh birthday...'

**A/N:** Well there's that chapter out. It's a nice long one- but golly gosh it was hard to write. On the plus side- I only have one more exam left, which makes me happy!!!! Please review, I do so love them. And I need some ideas for chapters. Imagine a slightly insane Harry – not totally insane, so no using dairy products as communication devices, but slightly insane. Now tell me what you think he'd do at Hogwarts! If it's superbly on topic, then I'll definitely use AND CREDIT your brilliance. If not, then we'll both just have a good laugh!


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I like cake. (Oh, and I don't own Harry Potter)

**A/N:** My sincerest apologies for the long delay. I actually have no excuse. My life has been super busy? I hope some of you still remember who I am. 

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'Did you see what Longbottom's stupid grandmother sent him during breakfast?' Draco sneered, as they left the potions classroom, but no one was really listening and Draco's attempt to regain attention was unsuccessful.

Tracey and Daphne were surprisingly sympathetic, once they'd heard Harry's tale of woe and sexual harassment. They clung to him in a simpering way which made Draco scowl in annoyance, and put a slightly pained expression onto Blaise's face- he looked like a constipated farm animal, in Harry's opinion. Harry having analysed both expressions, was forced to conclude two things:

Draco was definitely gay.

Blaise was probably constipated.

The latter proved incorrect, and we can attribute Harry's inability to recognise jealousy when he saw it to his own innate social retardation. He was definitely enjoying all the attention he was receiving though. It was true, Harry reflected looking pityingly over at Blaise (he thought it might be a bit embarrassing for the boy if he offered him laxatives in front of everyone), and winking seductively at Draco (who blanched in response), fame really did bring glory and hot eleven year olds.

'Oh Harry, however did you overcome the trauma of your harassments?' Daphne questioned silkily, her face a picture of concern.

'It was hard Daphne, it was hard. I think you and Tracey have had a lot to do with my recovery though.' The two girls giggled, and Harry found himself starting to get slightly bored- he was eleven years old for god's sake. He stopped abruptly. Daphne and Tracey, who were still clinging onto his arms, were forced to stop as well, and after pulling off a difficult mauver, which involved a pirouette and a flawless 780° turn, Harry found himself free of their vice-like grip. In anyone else, such actions would seem strange, and more then slightly rude. But amongst Harry's new group of friends, an understanding had been reached that there was something just not quite right about the boy. Therefore his strange foray into the world of corridor dancing elicited nothing more than raised eyebrows and understanding head nods. Harry was not happy. He loved reactions. Therefore he decided to try something more, direct.

'Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaise,' Harry drawled, motioning for the boy in question to join him. Whether it was because he'd been aware of the pitying look Harry had been sending him earlier, or if he just didn't like his name having a dozen more a's wasn't clear. What was clear however, was that Blaise was definitely ignoring him. Harry wasn't perturbed though- he knew Blaise would crack before he did, 'Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaise.'

Blaise sniffed.

'Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaise.'

Blaise blinked.

'Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaise.'

Blaise snorted.

'Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaise.'

'ALRIGHT, WHAT?!' he screamed, a vein in his forehead pulsing ominously. Harry smiled sunnily over at the irate boy. It was so easy to annoy Blaise.

'What class do we have next Blaise?'

'Flying Lessons, with the Gryffindors.'

'Cool, thanks Blaise.' Harry waited a few seconds, while Blaise processed that Harry had nothing more to say to him.

'Are you actually serious? THAT was the reason you wouldn't stop harassing me? Anyone could have told you that because unlike YOU- we actually read and keep track of our timetables.'

'But I wanted to ask YOU Blaise. Draco would probably have thought I was propositioning him again.' Blaise opened his mouth to disagree, but thought better of it.

'Yeah, you're probably right about that one.' Draco, overhearing, scowled, but wisely said nothing. He'd get Harry back for those comments, even if he had to make him kiss Hagrid. The idea amused him, and Draco smiled sunnily, even going so far as to snigger pointedly in Harry's direction.

'Yes Draco, you're positively diabolical,' Harry said kindly, correctly interpreting the reason behind Draco's sudden mood shift. Draco sniggered again, but said nothing. If only Harry knew what _truly_ diabolic plans the boy was brewing- then he might not be so flippant.

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Harry hadn't been out onto the Hogwarts grounds before and so at first he was slightly taken aback by the wide expanse of rolling green lawn, stopped only by the huge lake that seemed to stretch at least as far as the mountains behind them. Then his usual sense of social retardation caught up with him, and he slipped off his shoes and ran whooping through the lush green grass, while everyone stared at him.

'Seriously- he's the worst Slytherin ever,' Draco remarked (having once again undergone a mood shift- Blaise was getting slightly dizzy trying to keep up), shaking his head to add emphasis to what was obviously meant to be a very profound remark.

'Either that, or the best Slytherin ever,' Blaise said thoughtfully, staring after the runty eleven year old, and officially stealing Draco's profound thunder. Theo, watching the exchange, chuckled- the first noise anyone had heard out of him since term had started. Everyone stared and Theo shrugged, before wandering off to where Harry was now attempting to cartwheel across the lawn.

'I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands I think,' Draco said decisively, after staring at Harry in a manner which could only be considered predatory, for about seven and a half minutes.

'Mate, I think he's already made it pretty clear he's not interested in you like that.'

'Shut up Blaise, that's not what I'm talking about.' Draco huffed, before stalking off towards their flying lesson, where rows of bent, misshapen school brooms stretched out before him, 'Harry, stop gallivanting, and get over here!' Draco bellowed, spotting the Gryffindors starting to emerge. Harry, for once, obeyed him and skipped over.

'Yes Drakey, I'm right here though, I've noticed you still haven't managed to master your current objective.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Asking someone a question _nicely_.' Harry grinned and bent down to examine the nearest heap of handle and twig, 'do these things actually fly?' he asked in surprise, 'they don't look very road worthy.'

'They're school brooms, what do you expect?' Draco sneered, and Harry saw why Malfoys were generally known for having large sticks up their backsides. He shook his head, silently mourning centuries of social retardation. He'd have his work cut out- that was for sure. Draco, unaware of Harry's silent pity, was moving amongst the rows of brooms, trying to find two that were relatively unscathed by time and countless other students learning to fly. Having found two he deemed to be worthy, he waved Harry over- though became side-tracked halfway through his wild gesticulations, by the arrival of the Gryffindors.

Harry watched as the familiar nasty sneer slid into place across Draco's pale pointed features. It was always interesting for him how many stages of interaction Draco seemed incapable of. Gryffindor bought its own problems however, and Harry soon found himself the victim of some irate stares. He waved back at scowling wranga, and gave the Gryffindor one of the Indian twins the peace sign, before bounding over to where Draco had found them some brooms. Indian-twin and wranga clearly thought Harry had been doing something evil with his greetings however, so they followed him. And behind them, clearly eager to do some serious reprimanding, came Hermione. She was trailed by a round-faced boy, clutching something in between two pudgy hands, and looking decidedly lost.

'Ooh, it's a regular gang!' Harry squealed happily, clapping his hands as the four Gryffindors approached.

'I don't like you, Potter,' said the wranga intelligently, waving his fist in what he obviously thought was a threatening manner.

'Yeah, Potter, neither do I!' the Indian added, her own, slightly smaller fist joining the mix of waving appendages. The round-faced boy did nothing but continue to look slightly bemused, as if he'd accidently wandered into Hogwarts by mistake, and actually had no idea what was going on.

'So you came over to scowl and shake your fists at Harry?' Draco drawled, his eyebrow raised his trademark superior smirk. Wranga and Indian-twin scowled- the speed of their fist shaking increasing and Harry continued watching, amused, as Hermione opened her mouth to add to the incredible display of social ineptitude.

'Ronald, Parvarti, you're both being ridiculous. Ron- has Harry ever even spoken to you before?'

'Why Ronald, I don't believe I ever have,' Harry added, shaking his head sadly and wiping imaginary tears from his eyes with the aid of Hermione's incredibly bushy hair, 'this saddens me, Ronald.' He was over-joyed at having learned the wranga's name- not least of all because it was incredibly stupid but because, along with the red hair and large, out of proportioned feet- he reminded Harry of the McDonald's clown. It was almost too good to be true.

Ron was saved having to respond by the arrival of Madame Hooch, the flying instructor. Luckily for him, it seemed likely he would get his chance later, since the only free brooms were the ones next to Harry and Draco. Ron, having noted this apparent misfortune, scowled, but wisely said nothing. Draco, on his way back to his own broom, knocked into the lost-looking boy, and he stumbled comically around.

'Pathetic, Longbottom,' Draco drawled, his inability to interact with people once again manifesting itself, 'I bet you won't even be able to get on your broom.' Pleased with what he obviously thought was a top notch insult, Draco made his way back over to where Harry was now standing, and shot the boy a wicked smirk.

'Yes Draco, what a terribly insulting fiend you are. All first years quail at the sight of you,' Harry deadpanned, and next to him, Theo sniggered again. Draco was saved the opportunity to make yet another second-rate response by the arrival of Madame Hooch, the flying instructor.

'Well, what are you all waiting for?' she barked. 'Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.' As most of the class already seemed to have found a broomstick, Harry considered this quite a redundant statement. Wisely though, he said nothing. He glanced down at his broom. It was old and worn looking, with the head of the broom, reduced to nothing more than a handful of twigs. Harry liked it.

'I shall call you, Paul.' He proclaimed with a smile, and Draco shot him an exasperated look.

'Stick out your right hand over your broom,' called Madame Hooch at the front, 'and say, Up!'

'UP!' everyone shouted. Paul jumped into Harry's hand at once, as did Draco's broom. But that was about it.

'See, Paul and I already have a great relationship,' Harry said happily, idly stroking the wooden length of his broomstick. Draco glanced over at what he was doing, and sneered, obviously still smarting from Harry's last dig at his ability to insult others,

'And you called me gay, Potter? Look at what you're doing to that broomstick.' Harry ignored Draco, and mounted his broomstick, as Madame Hooch instructed them. He watched in amusement as Hermione tried to mount her broom, only to slide off the end and land in an undignified heap. Beside him, Draco sniggered, his previous comment forgotten. Once Hooch had showed the muggleborn witch how to stay on her broom, she again addressed the class,

'Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two – ' But Madame Hooch never finished her count, the boy, Longbottom, as he had been established, kicked off hard and fast, perhaps eager to show the world that he was good for something. And good for something he was, it was just a shame that something turned out to be injuring himself, Harry thought sadly, as Neville- 20 feet up, slipped sideways off the broom and landed face down with a nasty crack.

'I'm starting to think that nothing ever goes smoothly with that kid...' Harry remarked wisely, as Madame Hooch let the boy away, strictly forbidding anyone from so much as touching a twig on one of the broomsticks.

'Like you're really one to talk, Harry,' Blaise drawled in response, as they both watched Draco bully his way through the students, until his attention was caught by something round and shiny, on the ground near where Longbottom had fallen.

'He's like a magpie,' Harry surmised, as Draco swooped upon the object, 'they're also attracted to shiny things.' Blaise glanced over at Harry in surprise, but seemed to remember who he was talking to, and instead ignored the comment.

'Oh look, it's that thing Longbottom's Gran sent him,' Draco sneered, holding the clear ball up so everyone could see it. Harry sighed, it seemed Draco's social retardations weren't done for the day, whatever stupid plan he'd concocted was probably going to result in at least one of them getting a detention. Great. Draco locked eyes with him and smirked, before tossing the ball lazily into the air, catching it in an unconcerned manner, 'so Potter, want to play a little game. I'm sure it will appeal to the _Slytherin_ in you.' Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione beat him to it.

'Malfoy that's Neville's Remembral!' she exclaimed, with the air of someone who has figured out a particularly difficult problem,

'Yes, yes it is Granger,' Draco sneered, 'how kind of you to spot the obvious.'

'So you have no right to take it, give it back at once!' Two social retards don't equal a normal person, so Draco didn't give it back, and Hermione didn't stop speaking like a condescending know-it-all. Instead, Draco mounted the nearest broomstick, and kicked off into the air.

'I'll tell you what,' he said conversationally, hovering about 10 feet in the air, 'I'll give back Longbottom's little brain-aid, if Harry proves he really should be in Slytherin, and goes and fetches a better broomstick out of the Quidditch shed.' There was a moment of silence, while Harry pondered the potential ramifications of venturing into what was obviously another cupboard. He didn't really care about Longbottom or his stupid ball, but he did hate bullies, and, as much as he thought Draco was an alright bloke, this was obviously what he was setting himself up to be.

'Just give it back, Malfoy!' Exclaimed Indian-twin, her high-pitched voice gyrating and whiney, as if she somehow thought bursting Draco's ear drums would make him do as she asked. Harry shook his head in frustration, were these people all really that stupid?

'You are the most annoying person I have ever met,' Harry proclaimed, grabbing Paul and mounting him in one smooth motion. Knees bent slightly, he kicked off from the ground, taking a moment to bask in the adrenaline-filled rush that came with flying. Trying not to think of all the phallic-like imagery the people watching him had just been treated to, Harry nudged his broom so that it flew over to where Draco was still hovering, motionless. 'You didn't seriously expect me to willingly go anywhere near another cupboard did you?' Harry questioned, enunciating his words slowly, in case Draco had trouble grasping their meaning. As he did so, he neatly plucked the Remembral out of the boy's hand and flew back down to where the crowd was still gathered.

Draco, about five seconds behind everyone else, glowered as he mirrored Harry's decent.

'You're such a coward Potter, can't handle a cupboard? _Oh please, stationary cupboard, don't sexually molest me with your inappropriate words. My little ears are so young!_' The high-pitched, girl-like squeal, Draco used to deliver his parody of Harry-inside-a-cupboard was much like the one Indian-twin had adopted earlier. Harry found he didn't like the sound of it any better when it was Draco.

With the broom still between his legs, he aimed for Crabbe's back, the boy, as usual standing as close to Draco as he could get. In this case, he was about a metre in front of Draco, facing him, a look of enrapture on his face as the blonde spoke. Angling downward slightly, Harry sped into the back of Crabbe, the impact jolting the boy's body forward and his face down. The angling was perfect, and Crabbe and Draco met, face to face, mouth to mouth. The contact was brief but no one missed it, and there was a stunned silence as Malfoy tried to free himself from what was quickly becoming more than just an accidental brush for Crabbe. As the laughter broke out, Harry gave himself a mental pat on the back, for creating a memory that would never be forgotten.

He was completely right, none of the Gryffindor or Slytherin first years ever forgot the day Crabbe and Malfoy kissed.

**A/N:** Yay! Another chapter- not my best work though, I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. I hope you all like it though, it's a little short but I thought that was a good place to end things. ;) Please review, it's encouragement from you guys that motivates me!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Hello! I'm not dead. Though I have been very busy!! I am now amazingly broke, but have enjoyed my summer break immensely. This is a really long chapter, where I pretty much just talk shit. Hopefully some of you get a few laughs out of it though. You might even spot the emergence of a plot... it's weak... but getting there! Big thanks to everyone who reviewed, you inspire me!

**Disclaimer:** I own NSIIOs... and the cupboard.

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'Harry!' came the overly familiar voice of Hermione Granger. Harry, who was already half-way back to the castle with a mortified Draco, a dreamily smiling Crabbe, and hysterical Blaise briefly considered feigning deafness, and making a run for it. Then his sense of pity for the friendless muggleborn kicked in, and he reasoned that it would be prejudice of him to put up with one socially retarded person (Draco), yet try to flee from another. He abruptly stopped, and Blaise and Draco mimicked his actions. Crabbe was lost in a world of his own though, and continued his slow walk towards the castle, dreamy smile still in place, his index finger slowly tracing a caressing path over his lips.

'I'd watch out for him,' Harry said to Draco, nodding at Crabbe's retreating back. Draco ignored Harry, though his face took on a pained expression which suggested he was about to burst into tears. Blaise, observing the interaction, burst into another bout of hysterical laughter, his own tears streaming helplessly from his eyes. Draco's reasoning for choosing to wait with Harry and Blaise, when he so obviously didn't want to be anyway near either of them, at first escaped Harry, who'd originally thought it was just Draco's usual social retardation. But watching Crabbe's retreating form as they waited for Hermione to catch up to them, Harry realised that Draco didn't want to be left alone with Crabbe. Smart choice... he mused, as Hermione finally reached them.

'Harry, that was so dangerous of you! You'd never even flown on a broom before! You saw what happened to Neville, you could have killed yourself, or WORSE, been expelled!!!' Hermione's loud, screechy tirade caused Harry to conduct an impromptu Q&A session with his subconscious:

Why did Hermione stalk him down to scold him when he wasn't in her house? (Obviously a misguided attempt at friendship.)

How could she talk so much and so loudly without taking a breath? (Gills?)

Why was her voice so high-pitched? He could have sworn it had been normal volume last time they'd spoken. (He had no answer to this one.)

How was death better then expulsion? (Would Hermione have expected him to come back as a ghost and continue to attend Hogwarts?)

Why was Neville's toad stuck to the back of her robes? (For indeed it was, and looked rather unhappy for its plight).

While his subsequent internal question and answer session had been largely informative for him, it had caused a long period of silent inattentiveness on his part, and when he rejoined the present, it was to find Hermione, Blaise and Draco all staring at him expectantly, though the latter was glowering unpleasantly, and twirling his wand in a manner which suggested he wouldn't have minded cursing Harry right there and then.

'Down boy,' Harry said cheerfully to Draco, who, ironically growled, then tried to shoot a spell at Harry, who, after years of practise both dodging and launching projectiles (a fond memory of Dudley, a vegetable patch, and an irate Scottish man came to mind), deftly manuvered around the jet of red light, before turning his attention back to Hermione who was watching the scene with a shocked expression, 'oh don't worry about Drakey,' Harry said consolingly, motioning towards the irate blonde, who was if possible, glaring even more furiously at Harry, 'he's just upset that his first boy-on-boy kiss was with Crabbe instead of me.' This appeared to completely push Draco over the edge, and he gave a strangled howl, burst into tears and ran towards the school.

This was also entirely too much for Blaise, who gave a similar-sounding howl, before falling to the ground, hands clutching his sides, as tears poured freely down his face, and great bursts of laughter exploded out into the mostly still atmosphere of the Hogwarts grounds. Harry and Hermione could only stare in shock, as Blaise remained on the ground, his laughter not abating for at least five minutes.

'Th-thank you,' he finally gasped out, having regained control of his vocal box, 'j-just, tha-a-nk you.' Harry nodded, in yoda-like acceptance of the boys words, before finally choosing to re-acknowledge Hermione, all prior knowledge of her tirade now vanished from his mind,

'To whatever you said earlier, I'm going to give you the same objectives I gave Draco, because you obviously suffer from whatever social ailment he seems to have. Today, your aim is to say something nice to someone.' Hermione looked miffed, whether it was because she'd just been compared to Draco, or because Harry had said all of this very slowly, while standing on his head, was unclear. She seemed to take this as a dismissal of some sort though, as she huffed and marched back towards the school, a pained expression on her face.

'Are you coming?' Harry asked Blaise, who was still on the ground, and seemed quite spent; aside from the occasional twitch, he was barely moving. Without waiting for a response, Harry started towards the castle, lamenting over the sheer social ineptitudes of his so-called friends.

The next week or so was quite uneventful. Draco still wasn't talking to Harry, avoided Crabbe like the plague, and had taken to ruthlessly tormenting Ron Weasley, who Harry referred to affectionately as 'Wranga'. The combination of this nickname, and Draco's teasing was slowly eating away at Ron, who was getting more and more agitated. Indeed, it had gotten to the point where Draco's mere presence in a room caused Ron's face to redden to an alarming extent, Hermione was often present, preaching at him in a holier-than-thou manner which, did nothing to assist his anger.

It all came to a head on the way to lunch one day. Harry was walking with Blaise and Draco. Draco still wasn't talking to him, and so had taken to addressing everything he said to Blaise, who, had taken advantage of Draco's new found dependency on him, to torment him at every possible interlude.

'Father said not to bother with the nimbus 2000, because apparently a new, vastly more superior model is going to be released this summer, which, of course I shall be receiving,' Draco proclaimed in his usual pompous manner.

'Oh, how wondrous for you,' Blaise simpered, 'do you plan on letting Crabbe handle your broomstick at all? I'm pretty sure it'd be a dream come true for him.' Harry snorted with laughter, but quickly transformed it into a cunningly disguised coughing fit. Draco, in his usual fit of social retardation, missed the innuendo entirely, but at the mention of Crabbe, he paled and glanced around for a distraction. Said distraction arrived in the form of Ron Weasley, who was approaching from the opposite corridor arguing loudly with Hermione, his face bright red, hand flying as he gestured in anger.

'I DON'T CARE WHAT THE INCANTATION IS!' He proclaimed hotly, his voice loud and capitalised, 'WE DON'T EVEN LEARN THE RUDDY SPELL UNTIL THIRD YEAR!' Hermione quailed under his angry gaze, and a tear pooled in the corner of her eye. Before the fight could progress any further, they caught sight of Harry, Draco and Blaise, and Ron's colour deepened- his eyes rolling in a slightly comical, but obviously irate fashion. He stepped forward, Draco did too and Harry was reminded of a bad western movie, where the hero (usually Clint Eastwood – his mentor) and the villain step out alone, to face each other amidst a swirl of dust and tumbleweed.

'Hey! Aren't I supposed to be the hero?' he whined, and Blaise gave him a concerned look. 'I'm Clint Eastwood, aren't I?' Harry asked him.

'I have no idea what you're talking about, Potter. As usual.' Was Blaise's response.

'No matter Blaise-ey, let's just sit back and watch Draco and Wranga exchange dreadfully bland insults shall we.' Blaise rolled his eyes, but nevertheless, turned his attention back to the 'show down'. Draco was eyeing Ron speculatively, as the wranga's complexion had yet to settle upon a colour. Behind him, Hermione serendipitously wiped away a tear, and Draco smirked.

'Congratulations Weasley, I see you made the mudblood cry, you're obviously not the muggle-lover the rest of your family is, there's hope for you yet.'

'Shut it Malfoy. I'm nothing like your scum.'

'I suppose that's true, you have to be a particularly nasty, noxious kind of scum to be a Weasley.'

'Why you little—, 'Ron drew his wand with a snarl, and several things happened very fast. Firstly, Harry, fearing Draco's social ineptitude would land him in danger, jumped into the fray, pushing the stupid blonde boy aside as he did so. Secondly Hermione, fearing she would be caught in the cross-fire, looked for somewhere to hide, and, spying a broom closet, ran over and opened the door. Thirdly Ron, seeing Harry move towards him, thought he was about to be caught in a two verses one battle and loudly bellowed the first spell that came to his head.

The effect of this was that Harry, caught unawares, was blasted off his feet, right into the broom closet Hermione had so kindly exposed to the world. As the aftershock slammed the door hard into its frame, a startling, panicky sensation overwhelmed Harry. He'd just landed back in hell.

'Oh fuck.' He groaned loudly, wildly glancing around him for some form of escape.

'Oh fuck indeed.' Breathed a now familiar voice, 'that was quite a forceful entrance- it was... satisfying on an entirely different level.' The cupboard subsided off into a strangled sort of moan, as Harry began to edge towards where he thought he'd blasted in from.

'Ahh, umm, yeah... ok. Well, I guess I'll just be leaving now,' Harry said hesitantly, stretching his arm out in the direction of the door. Not for the first time, his internal compass failed him, and Harry's arm instead hit a tin, of what was later revealed to be Magical Mess remover. The tin fell to the ground and burst open, its contents spewing out all over the place, and a particularly unpleasant smell filling the room. 'Oh, gross!' Harry whined, as Magical Mess Remover coated his hands, 'it's all slimy!'

'Oh my gosh! Could this day have arrived so soon... are you about to give yourself to me at last?' The cupboard gasped, before bursting into what it obviously thought were flirtatious giggles.

'What? I-we? NO!' Harry bellowed, unsure how the cupboard had managed such a drastic leap of faith, 'what on earth gave you that idea?!'

'Well, you're coating everything in Magical Mess Remover, surely you mean to use it as lubricant, right hot stuff?' The cupboard emphasised this statement with a rough, guttural roar. The kind you hear on the discovery channel, when the male lion penetrates the lioness for the first time. Harry was speechless with revulsion, his very sense of being rebelled, and even though he was disgusted and disturbed beyond words, and his sexual maturation had probably been set back at least another four years, he still found enough social retardation to ask the very question which I'm sure would have and has plagued anyone who has ever been in his situation, even if that person happened to be only eleven years old.

'Um. First off, that is disgusting. What the fuck could I even lube up? How the hell does a person HAVE INTERCOURSE WITH A CUPBOARD WHO, I MIGHT ADD- IS AN INANIMATE OBJECT!!!!!' A very still, perverse sort of silence settled over the cupboard, and Harry took the opportunity to grope for the door once again. He remembered with a shiver of dread, the high-pitched sobbing that had occurred the last time he'd offended the cupboard. He reached blindly for where he thought the door handle was, but he missed again, and instead his hand rubbed across an empty space of wall.

'You just felt me up,' the cupboard insisted. Harry withdrew his hand, horrified.

'I did not!'

'I assure you, you just caressed my Wenis.' Harry was once again rendered speechless.

'Do you have a lisp?' He inquired, and the cupboard laughed.

'No, though would you find it sexy if I did? A Wenis is that bit of skin on your elbow.'

'You don't have an elbow, ' Harry chose to overlook the cupboards question, he could feel a headache coming on, and by his reckoning, he was no closer to the door then he'd been before the unfortunate 'wood brush' had occurred.

'What is with inanimate objects and being completely nuts?' he muttered to himself, noticing for the first time, the very thin crack of light that announced the location of the door.

'I know you're sexy as hell, but sometimes you are unbelievably dense. CLEARLY, the fact we can talk makes us Not-So-Inanimate-Inanimate-Objects. In the future, if you're going to talk about us as a group, we'd prefer if you called us that. Or by our acronym, NSIIO.'

'You're a group?'

'Sure are baby, we have the greatest swinger parties, remind me to invite you to one, I'll let you touch more than just my Wenis.' The cupboard gave another shrill giggle, and Harry was supremely glad the door was almost within arm's reach.

'Uh, no thanks, I'd rather not.'

'Suit yourself baby, but Frederick will be very disappointed, he was really starting to develop a thing for you.' About to turn the knob of the door, Harry paused, a feeling of foreboding settling over him, in much the same sense as it had the first time he'd ever reflected back on a conversation with the cupboard.

'Who's Frederick?' he ventured, not particularly looking forward to the response.

'Why, the sorting hat, of course- you can't have forgotten him already, can you?'

'I, the- what? SORTING HAT?' this was entirely too much for the boy-who-lived to bear, uttering a strange sound that seemed a cross between McGonnagall during fur-ball season, and Draco after he kissed Crabbe, Harry turned the door handle and clean bolted out of the cupboard, vowing stringent revenge on whatever cruel twist of fate had forced him into such a terrible situation. While he was in a cursing mood, Harry also cursed whatever irresistible part of his person caused NSIIO's to be so attracted to him. Then he cursed Quirrel's turban; because it was ugly. Then he remembered that before he'd been traumatically shoved into the broom cupboard, there had been a fight brewing.

Hermione and Blaise were the only people still in the corridor, and they were stringently avoiding eye contact with each other. Blaise was staring at Harry with a look of incredulous concern, while Hermione- a good five metres away, seemed to be preparing herself to deliver another verbal beating. Harry beat her to it,

'Not now Hermione- we have a situation on hand that is more dire than Crabbe's unrequited love for Draco. The Sorting Hat- wants to 'do' me!' Upon Harry's revelation, Hermione's jaw dropped and her left eyeball twitched unpleasantly. Blaise's expression- if possible, became even more incredulous.

'Now, Harry-,' Hermione began, but Harry cut her off,

'It's true- the cupboard told me. But enough of that for now –where are Draco and Wranga?'

'I believe I can answer that, Potter,' Blaise intervened, as Hermione noticeably bristled – the hairs on her head rising up like Echidna spikes, 'after your unfortunate... incident, Weasley and Draco resorted back to child-like taunts, which eventually came to a head when Draco bet Ron that he wasn't Gryffindor enough to enter the forbidden corridor on the third floor. They're both up there now, trying to prove each other wrong.'

Harry laughed, he couldn't help it. The situation with the cupboard had seriously unhinged him.

'What are we waiting for, troops?' he barked, the sudden shift in his temperament prompting a squeak from Hermione, and an eyebrow raise from Blaise. It was with a long suffering sigh that Harry realised they were too dense to make the obvious connection here, 'Draco and Wranga are in a potentially dangerous situation. It is therefore safe to assume that given their inherent character flaws- aka, they are both spastic- that they will be in danger. We could not in good faith sit there and allow them to be killed,' here Harry paused for a second, to allow Hermione to get the full effect of his next words, 'or worse... expelled!'

To her credit, Hermione merely scowled at him, to which Harry responded with a cheery grin, before bouncing off towards the third floor, singing loudly about sunshine and lollypops. Hermione and Blaise followed at a slightly slower pace, making sure to remain at least six metres behind him on the uneventful trip to the third floor. Their arrival on his famously dangerous level of the castle was greeted by an extremely high-pitched scream.

'Sounds like Draco's in trouble,' Blaise noted, and Harry nodded in agreement,

'It certainly sounds that way.' They broke into a run; coming into sight of the closed, usually locked door which constituted the forbidden part of the third floor, just as Draco and Ron came shooting out of it. Behind them, a loud, deep growling noise could be heard, and both the boys' robes seemed liberally splashed in what was later discovered to be drool.

'OH MY GOD WE'RE GOING TO BE EATEN ALIVE, EVERYONE RUN!!!' Draco screamed, and for once, no one questioned him. They all turned and ran, not stopping until the third floor was several staircases away.

'Ok... so tell...us,' Harry panted, once they'd all stopped to catch their breath, 'what...was behind that...door. Why are you covered in-' he stepped closer and sniffed Draco's robes, '-drool??'

'There's a huge, dangerous beast behind that door!' Ron proclaimed, with the air of someone who has just said something very shocking. Everyone was silent for about ten seconds, before Blaise spoke up.

'No shit, Weasel. Anyone with at least two of the five senses could tell that much. What we're interested in was what kind of beast it was, and what it's doing in our school.' Ron gave Blaise a withering look, before jutting out his lower lip and settling into a sulk.

'I think I can answer these questions,' Draco announced pompously, his shaking now barely noticeable, 'the beast in question was obviously a Cerberus-'

'A GIANT, THREE-HEADED DOG?' Hermione interrupted, eyes widened in shock.

'Obviously, Granger, are all muggleborns as pathetically uneducated as you?' Harry thought this was a pretty stupid thing to say, considering Hermione was beating them all in every class, but he wisely (a first for him), kept his mouth shut. Tempers were frayed enough as it was.

'What was the Cerberus doing in the forbidden corridor?' Harry pondered, and once again it was Draco who answered, smug grin firmly in place.

'It was clearly guarding something; it was standing over a trap-door.' Harry was about to respond, but unfortunately their group meeting was interrupted by the arrival of Professor McGonnagall, Professor Snape and Professor Quirrel, all of whom were panting heavily, suggesting they had run most of the way.

'Potter,' Snape drawled, 'I should have guessed you'd be behind this disturbance.'

'Mr Potter!' Professor McGonnagall admonished, 'what on earth are you doing on the third floor corridor?' Harry looked to the others for support, but as their presence had not registered to the Professors, they were all doing their best to edge away. Harry rolled his eyes, what good was being famous, if it just got you in trouble. Oh well, it was time for Harry to employ one of his lesser known and vastly underappreciated talents; his ability to lie.

'Me and my pals were strolling around the castle, as we are wont to do in between classes, when Draco here,' Harry pointed at the blonde boy, who froze in his tracks, and shot Harry a withering stare, 'started a game of catch with Wr-Ron,' here, Ron also froze, and shook his fist menacingly at Harry. Professor McGonnagall raised her eyebrows. 'Ron can't catch very well, and so the ball bounced down a few flights of stairs and into this corridor. We all ran down to catch it, and Hermione had just grabbed a hold of it, when we heard this really frightening growl- I think Blaise almost wet himself.'

'Watch it, Potter,' Blaise hissed, before remembering their current company and flushing as much as his dark skin would allow.

'A pack of lies, Potter,' Snape hissed, looking murderous. Draco and Blaise both glanced at the Slytherin head of house in surprise- he was well known for his favouritism, 'I see no ball.'

'It's right here, Professor Snape,' Hermione said suddenly, and everyone turned to look as she produced a red rubber ball from within the folds of her robes. Snape snarled, turned on his heel and flounced of down the corridor, his cloak billowing out behind him with a perfection Harry knew he'd probably never achieve.

'That man's cloak billows like a dream,' he told everyone dreamily, as Snape became nothing more than a billowing dot down the end of the hallway. Then he turned a corner and vanished altogether.

'What are you talking about, Potter?' McGonnagall snapped, looking terse.

'Nothing, nothing...' Harry trailed off dreamily, and Hermione took the chance to jump in and make sure they weren't expelled.

'So Professor, since we weren't actually in the forbidden corridor, there's no need to punish us, is there?' McGonagall looked pained for a few seconds, and Harry experienced a moment of clarity where it seemed highly likely she was going to cough up a fur ball on them. Then he burped loudly, and the feeling passed. Everyone stared at him until Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

'I suppose since you weren't actually in violation of the Headmaster's rules, there is no need to punish you. But if I catch you near this corridor again, you'll all be in detention until Christmas.' She made to leave, but Harry interrupted her,

'What if you were to catch us here on Christmas Eve? Would we still only have detention until Christmas?' Professor McGonagall inhaled heavily, before fixing Harry with a long stare.

'Detention, Mr Potter. Tomorrow night- in my office. Clearly I did not make myself clear before. I will now escort you all from the third floor, this way, if you please.' They trooped out after McGonagall, until they reached the second floor, where she dismissed them with a nod. Once out of ear shot, Ron immediately flounced off, his face as red as his hair, muttering something about Slytherins and pancakes. After giving Harry a querulous stare, Hermione hurried after him.

'Catching a ball, Potter?' Blaise drawled, as soon as Hermione was out of ear shot, 'that was your story?'

'Hey, it worked,' Harry said defensively, 'I've had a trying day, and I didn't see any of you offering any ideas.'

'Ah, yes,' Blaise said, a hint of amusement creeping into his expression, 'not only are you being molested by a cupboard, but apparently the Sorting Hat is now besotted with you.'

'Shut up!' Harry growled, 'It's hard being completely irresistible to Hats and Cupboards.' As he spoke, a suit of armour reached out a heavy silver arm and gently stroked the small of Harry's back. Harry squeaked and jumped forwards in alarm, while Blaise and Draco stared in shock. The silence was broken by the suit of armour making what was unmistakably a kissing noise. Then Draco burst out laughing, and Blaise soon joined in, leaving Harry still frozen in shock.

' I'll take Crabbe over a suit of armour any day,' Draco said between laughs, clapping a hand on Harry's forearm, 'come on, Potter, let's go to dinner.' Between him and Blaise, they managed to get Harry to walk, coaxing him down the stairs while he muttered about sexual harassment and NSIIOs.

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Nice and long! Thanks for all the reviews of the last chapter! They inspired me to write this one! Love love to all my beautiful reviewers! You know who you are. ;)


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